


Just The Two Of Us

by Anti_Dote



Category: The Boy (2016 Bell)
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Love at First Sight, Masturbation in Shower, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Obsessive Behavior, Reader Has A Fake Name, Reader Replaces Greta, Slow Burn, Stalking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:42:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28281093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anti_Dote/pseuds/Anti_Dote
Summary: After fleeing a mourning family and broken relationship, the reader finds themselves nannying for a doll, created in the likeness of the Heelshire’s only son, Brahms. The reader takes pity on the Heelshire's and follows the rules as asked, determined to do right by the family. In turn, she unknowingly becomes the obsession of the real Brahms Heelshire.This is my first fanfic, but I felt Brahms needed a lot more love, so I'm here to share :)
Relationships: Brahms Heelshire/You
Comments: 21
Kudos: 34





	1. New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire meets Mr. and Mrs. Heelshire, and their son Brahms.

_'Today is my first day meeting the Heelshire family in person. Although the trip has been lovely, I still feel terrible for leaving home. Mom always told me to travel the world, and I suppose this is, as anywhere, is a good place to start. It’s not exactly the way I pictured leaving the country but at the very least, my tracks are covered and no one knows where I am. I know it’s better this way. After the way I left there’s no way I would be safe if David found me again.'_

Your hand was trembling, so you stopped writing for a moment to look out the window at the surroundings. The English countryside was damp and foggy, it almost reminded you of home in the States. By the time you had arrived into town, the sun was already beginning to set. Hopefully the Heelshire’s would be able to excuse your tardiness. As you were driven further and further from the small town, you entered a dense forest, the fog getting thicker and the trees darker as your taxi drove. The light from the setting sun was blocked by the trees; no wonder the locals didn’t like coming out here. The man who was driving you had picked you up from the airport and had driven you into town, then back out again. He didn’t seem like he wanted to talk all that much, but you didn’t blame him. The weather was atmospheric and relaxing. Rain slid down the windows as the drizzle was turning into a downpour.

 _‘Didn’t all kids do this?’_ You remembered watching the rain go down the car window, your finger just ahead as if you were carving a path for it to follow.

Your mind wandered and you began asking yourself about the child you were going to be watching.

 _‘What was he like? '_ The letter you received mentioned he was “...unlike his age and a quite charming young boy…”, but it still left many blanks to questions you had. _‘How old was he? Does he listen well? What kind of nanny was he exactly looking for?’_

In the letter the Heelshire’s made it clear that the invitation was not an acceptance for the job, but merely an interview. They were allowing their child to pick his own nanny, but maybe that was part of being a rich only child. He was after all the one who would be having to spend the most time with me. You were determined to make a good impression. You didn’t particularly care for children, nor did you ever imagine having your own, but you loved your siblings and figured that caring for this child wouldn’t be much different than caring for one of your own.

You looked back at your journal and sighed, whatever you were going to write about before was lost in your thoughts. Journaling has always been a good tool for you to express exactly what you were thinking. You thought back to the time your mother gave you your first journal. You were about nine or ten years old, and had recently moved to a new school. As a child, you were so shy that it made you an easy target for bullying. 

“When I was your age, I didn’t have many friends to talk to, so I wrote in something like this.” She handed you a small, spiral notebook, on the front was your name in a pretty silver marker. Your finger traced the cursive font gently so as to not scratch the ink off, you dragged it down to the corner of the cover and flipped it to the first page. The crisp white paper was empty and waiting for you to give it life.

“What did you write about, Mom?” You asked quietly, flipping through the other pages.

“I wrote about what was in here,” She pointed to her head, “Sometimes things get so crammed in there that there isn’t room left for anything else. My journal held onto those thoughts for me. You understand?”

You nodded your head in understanding, but at that time you really didn’t.

All your life your mind had been cluttered with thoughts and emotions, that even now you sometimes have a difficult time saying just how you feel. It felt like sandpaper caught in your throat and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t grasp the right words. Expressing your feelings to others was daunting and you found it was unnecessary. Most of the time people didn’t want to hear what you really wanted to say anyway, so you got used to saying what people wanted to hear. It was easier that way. Silk over sandpaper.

Up ahead you see a break in the dense trees, a road that splits the forest in two for a car to easily pass through. The driver turned down this road. Heavy, iron-wrought gates held by massive pillars of stone passed by, letting you know you were finally here. You fidgeted in your seat, mentally preparing yourself for whatever you were about to face.Out here you found your phone had no service, which didn’t make you feel any better, but you kept note of it in the back of your brain. You quickly glanced over your appearance in the camera. The Heelshire’s gave you the feeling that they would appreciate a modest woman. So in order to make a good impression, you wore your gray turtleneck, dark blue jeans, and simple black flats. Considering the weather you wish you had worn something more agreeable with rain. Your nice jacket was in one of your bags from the trip.

Something dark and looming pierced through the trees. The house was not what you were expecting, but maybe it was silly to think every rich, English person had a grand Vicorian manor. It seemed very out of place, the house in the forest. The thick stone brick walls circled the property, separating the trees from the obviously overgrown and out of control gardens. Being out in the country, you guessed it was safer to have the property closed off from wild animals. If the exterior was this breathtaking, you could only imagine the interior would be even more so. The taxi came to a stop in front of the house underneath a roofed car pull up, the driver jumped out and opened your door for you. You stepped out, giving a polite smile.

“Thank you.” You looked into your purse for your wallet.

“That won’t be necessary darling, Heelshire’s already paid for the fares.” He held his hand up to stop you and made his way to the trunk “Although my backs gettin’ a bit old, so if you want you could help me carry these bags inside…” He sighed as he grabbed a heavy bag in each hand and made his way inside.

Without another word you quickly grabbed the last bag and shut the trunk behind you. The driver placed your bags just on the inside of the entry, clearly not too keen on staying any longer. Without another word the front door closed behind him, leaving you alone once more. You sighed and turned to look around.

The first thing that stood out to you was the heavy silence. Setting your bag and purse down felt almost as if you were being too loud, even on the carpet you were standing on. The interior, as you had presumed, was exquisite. Lush deep blue rugs lined the floors and on the dark wooded walls were impressive displays of animal busts; their glass eyes seemed almost alive and watching. The fireplace on your left was unlit to your disappointment, you were hoping you could have warmed up next to one. A grand staircase twisted to the left, a circular landing overlooked where you were standing before the stairs continued further up above you. You twisted your hands together, nervously picking at the cuticles on your thumbs. Should you wait here? Or was the family expecting you somewhere else? You winced as you peeled the skin too far, you softly sucked the fresh blood that peaked it’s way from underneath your skin. It sounded like someone may have been walking around above. Perhaps the family didn’t know you were here yet. You found your way up to the landing on the stairs and from there you caught sight of the grand family portrait gazing down on you. Three people stood together, holding each other and smiling softly. You gazed at the small boy holding the woman’s hand. He looked young, maybe six or seven years of age.

As you examined the painting, more footsteps from the hallway at the top of the stairs caught your attention. Perhaps the family was awaiting your arrival up here? It wouldn’t be unlikely with a house of this size they had a parlor or living room of sorts up here.

“Hello..?” You called out timidly, your feet guiding you further inside.

At the top of the stairs you found yourself alone. Maybe the child was spying on you? The letter did mention he was shy. The house was dead silent even up here. So, you ventured further, looking inside the first open door on your left. A child’s bedroom. The room seemed way out of time, and if anything hardly touched. Everything was so neatly placed you wondered if the parents had strict rules on cleanliness. The toys seemed really old, not something you imagined any child from recent years would play with anyway. The Heelshire’s seemed disconnected from the whole world, you guessed there was a “no technology” rule with the lack of service and Wi-Fi. You stayed at the doorway, coming up the stairs felt like you were already intruding so you didn’t want to push your luck. A set of footsteps from the staircase caught your attention and soon followed an elderly woman. She was, as you guessed, dressed in modest attire. Her eyes trailed obviously up and down your figure.

“Ah, there you are. I was wondering where you had run off to.” the woman spoke with a clear and strong tone. “I see you have found Brahms’s room by yourself. Mrs. Heelshire.” She came closer to you and held her hand out for you to shake.

“Sorry, I hope I am not intruding.” You took her hand with the one you hadn’t been chewing on nervously and gave it a shake. You had given yourself a different name for people to refer to you by while you were here, on the plane ride you had decided on, "Claire." You introduced.

“No, we had been expecting you all day today.” She sighed to herself, “If you’ll follow me this way, we can meet Mr. Heelshire.”

Mrs. Heelshire led you further into the house, and eventually upon a man hunched over a lounge chair. He was obviously speaking with the child, probably going over manners and what not.

“This is my husband, Mr. Heelshire...” She paused as Mr. Heelshire stood and peered at you, revealing a porcelain doll staring blankly forward, “...and this is Brahms, our son.” Her gazed pierced into your, awaiting your reaction to the doll.

If it wasn’t for Mrs. Heelshire’s serious tone, you would’ve thought this was some weird joke. You glanced at Mr. Heelshire who seemed just as eager to see what you would do. The doll matched the boy in the painting nearly identically. He was dressed nicely and you couldn’t see a smudge on his porcelain, You stepped out of the doorway and made your way over to the chair. You knelt down to the dolls level and hesitantly grabbed his cold hand. You forced a kind and understanding smile and gave his hand a small shake. You could play their game, especially considering what they wanted to pay you.

“Hello Brahms, my name is Claire. I’m glad we could finally meet.” You looked up to Mrs. Heelshire, you seemed pleased with your response. The cold and determined gaze you had seen before had turned more relaxed and relieved.

“If you’ll give us a moment dear, Mommy and Daddy are going to discuss with Brahms for a moment.” She spoke, guiding you out of the room and softly shutting the door behind you.

You furrowed your brows when you heard the lock click into place. Did she really think I was just going to barge in there? You stepped back to the other side of the hallway to wait, but it only took a moment of hushed talking before the door was unlocked and opened again.

“Well, Brahms would be delighted if you could stay.” Mr. Heelshire spoke first, his hands in his pockets almost awkwardly. Mrs. Heelshire held a tired smile on her face but she fished her husband's hand from his pocket and held it as support.

“We trust you’ll take good care of our boy.” She nodded, your reaction to the doll must have made her like you much more than when you had first met.

You smiled and shook your head in agreement “Absolutely, I would be happy to care for Brahms.”

“Come along then, it’s getting late and I have some things I’d like to go over with before bed,” Mrs. Heelshire released Mr. Heelshire’s hand and placed it along your shoulder to turn and guide you back down the hallway “Mr. Heelshire will take your things to your room for you.” She looked back at him, confirming with a small nod.

Soon you were ushered back to Brahms room and Mrs. Heelshire gave you a quick, but intense lecture on expectations and instructions for caring for Brahms. How to wake and dress Brahms. Lesson and poetry. Then to finish off with saving meals and cleaning rat traps. You found that perhaps this schedule was more for Mrs. Heelshire’s own sense of control. The doll, you figured, must have been made in Brahms’s image. It didn’t take a genius to figure the doll was a form of therapy for the family, but it seems they never got over the loss of the child. This way in a sense, they had control over how they care for him and made sure he was safe and sound. You felt pity deep in your core, which only fueled your desire to do this right by the family. You bet some of the other nannies were denied simply because they couldn’t take the job seriously. It only took once or twice to do what was instructed for Brahms by her standards, so you finished everything she had hoped to go over with you much faster than she had expected.

“I think Brahms will find you quite enjoyable, dear. You seem to be a natural at this.” She complimented as she led you to what you were assuming would be towards your room.

“I appreciate that a lot, actually.” You gave her a warm laugh, the other nannies she was speaking previously about before must have been really bad if she liked what you were doing so much.

“This is you,” She stopped outside of a room near the middle of the hall “Tomorrow we leave early in the morning so I would like to see you before we go. I would set an alarm if you could.” She instructed, “The bathroom is the last door on the right and the kitchen is down the hallway from the front door to the left. Daddy, Brahms and I had already eaten dinner but you are more than welcome to make yourself some food. We already discussed what to do with leftovers.”

You nodded, Mrs. Heelshire's instructions made you feel a little dumb, as if she was explaining them to a child, but you find them comforting in a way. To know exactly what you needed to do. It gave you a solid foundation for the expectations you were going to be upheld to.

“Thank you, both of you. I’m happy to be here, and I’m excited to get started.” You thanked her, eager for her to leave you for the night so you could finally shower and relax.

You shut the door behind the old woman, and rolled your head around your shoulders to stretch your tight neck. You sat down promptly onto the bed and moved your bags around, searching for your purse. This evening had to be jotted down, it was too juicy to leave out.

It didn’t take long for you to realize that your purse was missing from your other bags. A quick glance around the room confirmed it wasn’t placed on any of the dressers or on the floor. You huffed and stood up, one of your biggest pet peeves was misplacing things. As a child, there was a time you lost one of your favorite toys, you nearly tore up your room looking for it. Mom walked in and saw you crying in frustration, she had to calm you down and get you to breathe properly before you two could look for the toy. As an adult, you’ve gotten better about not reacting in such ways, but sometimes you guessed your anxiety didn’t help. You were prescribed a daily medication, which you needed to take twice a day, but it was in your purse regardless.

You shook your head and took a deep breath. It was probably downstairs, Mr. Heelshire may have not seen it next to your bags, you tried to reason. Best take your shower and try to forget about it for now. You collected your things for your shower and slowly opened the door. The house was dark, and quieter than before. You carefully placed each foot down on the ground, careful not to be too loud. What if the Heelshire’s were sleeping already?

You set the shower to a rather hot temperature and began to undress. The more you began to wind down for the night, the more simple tasks felt like a chore. The steam began filling the room and you knew the shower was ready to go. You spent several minutes rubbing your muscles out, especially your back and neck. The plane ride didn’t do you any favors.

As you stood in the hot water, your mind wandered over the things you spoke with Mrs. Heelshire about. One of the most puzzling things was the set of rules she had typed out for you. Did they really matter anyway? Couldn’t you just leave Brahms in his bed for the whole trip? How would they know anyway? They must have cameras in the house. With the money they had there was no way they wouldn’t. It was obvious they care very much for the doll. You made a note to look around for any once they left. You went over each of the rules, like who was Malcolm? He must have been a guy from town and he had to have known about the doll. Did he play their little game too? It didn’t matter, all you knew was you were going to be the best nanny you could be. Losing this job would ruin everything you’ve done to leave home. Your mother and siblings meant a lot to you, but you couldn’t risk seeing David again. It took some courage, and help from family and friends but you finally left. The thought of it alone made you feel light headed, and you couldn’t tell if it was from the excitement of being away, or the fear that he would find you. No, there’s no logical way. The Heelshire’s paid for everything, and no one knows exactly where you are.

 _‘David is gone, and I am safe’_ You affirmed.

After washing your hair and giving your body a quick wash and rinse, you stepped out of the shower and wrapped your towel around yourself firmly. Before making your way through the hallway, you peeked out and quickly jogged to your door, closing it and locking it before anyone saw you in your towel. With the security of the locked door, you changed into your pajamas and got ready for bed.

You really wished you had your journal right now. What would one night without writing harm? It’s not like you keep a consistent use of it anyway. You rubbed your eyes and sighed, trying to turn your brain off and get some rest. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you kept telling yourself you were going to be okay over and over again until you fell asleep.


	2. Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire finds herself experiencing unexplainable activity, the only logical explanation; Brahms Heelshire is haunting the doll.

It had been about three weeks since you arrived at the Heelshire manor. Malcolm was due sometime today for his delivery and you could hardly wait. Being alone with the doll made you desperate for someone to talk with. Malcolm was nice to talk to, even if his stories never made any sense. You got the feeling that Malcolm felt bad for you; hopefully that wasn't the only reason he talked to you. He always made sure to leave you a sweet treat in the grocery bags. You found his thoughtfulness charming and he found out that you really liked Strawberry Pop Tarts. 

It was still early in the morning, so you assumed he wouldn’t be here for another hour or two. You were in the kitchen, cleaning up the plates and pans from breakfast. This morning you had made over easy eggs, toast and bacon strips. The doll was placed in a seat behind you. It was easier than you thought to pretend with the doll. He never complained about your cooking and most importantly he didn’t talk back. You placed the last plate onto the drying rack and wiped your hands with a nearby towel. Today was near the end of the week, and as such, meant you had laundry to do. First, you were going to get the laundry started, then get Brahms's ready for his daily lessons. You picked up Brahms and set him on your hip, carrying him out of the kitchen and upstairs towards your bedroom. Today had felt off since the moment you awoke. You couldn’t exactly describe what was wrong, but you could feel it. It felt like no matter where you went, eyes followed. Every time you entered a new room, it felt small, like the house was holding its breath. Being alone was playing tricks on your mind. At least you tried to convince yourself that. You figure that feeling this way was your mind adapting to being in a new place, and a strange one at that. This morning was chilly due to a late rainstorm from the previous night. The windows were foggy, letting in cloudy rays of dim morning light. Maybe when it warmed up a bit, you would take Brahms outside for lunch in the garden. 

You still couldn’t find your purse and because of that you had begun feeling the effects of withholding your body from your daily medication. You constantly found yourself in a state of sluggishness, you slept more than usual but still found yourself exhausted when you awoke. Not to mention you couldn’t keep David off your mind. You were still healing from before and so paranoid that he was going to find you now that your mind didn’t have a chance to rest. Your fingers were victims of your anxiety, the cuticles were bitten back and sore. Being so depressed and anxious made your time here feel like it was going on forever. How long were you here for anyway? When would Mr. and Mrs. Heelshire return?

Your feet dragged up the stairs, pulling along your tired body. It was only nine in the morning and yet you were ready to crawl back into bed. Brahms was feeling heavy on your waist. You looked over at his blank face and brushed his hair that drifted out of place. Every now and then you wiped his face clean and made sure to wash his usual attire. Pretending he was real made the job easier at the end of the day, made you feel less silly when you fed him and tucked him into bed tonight. Even the rule about kissing Brahms goodnight wasn’t as awkward as when you first arrived.

“I have some laundry to do and then we can go and read for a little huh?” You spoke to the doll, “I got Malcolm to bring something special for us, we just have to wait till he comes by later.”

The doll, of course, stayed silent. You imagined Brahms would be happy to get a surprise gift, especially out of the blue. The gift was a storybook you enjoyed as a child. All of the other stories here were old literature, nothing you imagined a child would read. You finally reached your bedroom, when you opened the door you saw the mess that had amassed from your negligence. Clothes were by the feet of your bed, carelessly tossed off before you went to bed. Just another task that had to be done. You sighed deeply, you couldn’t leave the room like this any longer.

“Why don’t you sit here, and I’ll clean up a little?” You placed Brahms down into the arm chair by your bed. 

The task of cleaning your room should have only taken about five minutes for a quick pick up, but you convinced yourself to do a deep clean. You grabbed the clean clothes you had in the drawers and closet and put them back neatly. In doing so, you had hoped to find some of your missing clothes, but came empty handed. This time you were going to make a mental list of each piece of clothing item you had and now you had specific placements for everything. It was frustrating to see your deteriorating mental health, your missing clothes were an obvious sign. You stood at the doorway of your room and looked at how neat and tidy your room was. A clean space was a clean mind. You grabbed the laundry basket of dirty clothes from your bed and looked to Brahms. 

“You stay here, I’ll be right back.” You told Brahms gently.

On the way down the stairs, you swore you could have heard the sound of footsteps other than your own. You paused on the landing, looking back towards the dark upstairs hallway. 

_ ‘No, that’s impossible.’  _ You shook your head and continued on.

The laundry room was located on the first level of the manor, by the back door that led to the greenhouse outside. It was cold, and you preferred to remain down there for as little as possible. You couldn’t explain why but you always felt vulnerable there. When you arrived, you made quick work of tossing your garments in the washer. The Heelshire’s had multiple bottles of laundry detergent to choose from, so you changed which one you would use each week; giving your clothes something new to smell like each time. You didn’t bother handling them with too much care, it was mostly pajamas and lounging attire anyway. Now that you were away from David, you had the ability to dress as you pleased. Which meant no cosmetics, no complex hairstyles, and clothes that supported your newly adapted “no bra” lifestyle. You felt more comfortable this way, and it was easy to rationalize acting this way. 

Being rational was one of the main reasons you survived living with David, other than pure luck and help from your friends and family. He was arrogant and a narcissist, but deadly and decisive. He wanted complete control over everything in his life, and that was what made him so successful in business and unsuccessful in his relationships. When you met, you had recently graduated from high school and had gotten an internship at the place he worked at. You were eager to prove yourself, and far more willing to go lengths for attention and affection. It had been almost too easy for David. Which was exactly why he picked you. You were so desperate for affection that you overlooked any red flags he planted. He would blackmail, threaten, and belittle you until you submitted to his whims. If that didn’t work, he wasn’t afraid to use force. The only thing that kept you with him, was when he acted like you were his world. If you fought with him, he would cry and beg for your forgiveness, pleading for you to give him another chance. He would buy you nice things and leave you gifts constantly. You believed it was because he couldn’t express his love in words, so he tried to make up for it in material possessions. You thought that the reason he was so harsh on you, was because he knew you could be so much more than what you could give him. So, you rationalized his choices and made yourself to be emotional and indecisive. 

You should have known better to have avoided the man the other woman had been uncomfortable by. The one who so easily took over your mind and filled you with doubts of yourself. He made you think you were nothing without him. He was the reason you got the experience you did at work; he helped get you promoted to work underneath him. When you had been together for little more than five months, he proposed to you. On your birthday of all days, and in a quiet restaurant. You remembered feeling embarrassed when he spoke so loudly that the attention of the entire restaurant was upon you, waiting for your answer. The gleam in his eyes and the grip on your knee had told you exactly what he had wanted to hear you say.

You barely made it out of David’s grip alive. Knowing him all too well, you knew he wouldn’t just let you go. Now, you didn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t trust anyone who tried to get close to you. You kept your identity a mystery and remained vigilant for any signs of him. 

The washer door shut and locked into place. You pressed the start button and left hastily. The laundry would be done in forty minutes, giving you enough time to get Brahms ready for lessons, and hopefully receive your delivery for the week. You walked back upstairs, and into your room, gasping and freezing in your tracks. Brahms had moved. Not a little, he had moved completely. He was now sitting on the edge of your bed, staring directly at you. You weren’t crazy either. Brahms had moved and you had heard it on your way downstairs. The most insane thing about the situation was your purse had been laying beside him, his small arm draped over the top of it, holding it in place beside him. On his lap, was your journal.

“Brahms…” You mumbled to yourself, unsure how to react to the situation. 

Carefully, you stepped forward and took your journal from his lap. You looked at Brahms intensely, before checking your book. The journal had a small bump in between the pages in the middle, as if something had been wedged into it. You furrowed your brows and opened it to the page. The object dislodged itself from the pages and fell to your feet. You gazed down and picked it up carefully. It was a delicate bundle of small red flowers that held a bright yellow in the middle of the bulb. They were tied together by a small piece of twine. The page the flowers were stuck between had been empty before, but now they held the writing of someone else.

_ ‘A gift for my pretty nanny, Claire. I hope you like primroses.’ _

You bit your lip and looked up at the doll slowly. He was still staring blankly at you, as if he was waiting to see how you would react. You closed your journal and placed it on the bed, planting the flowers on top. Your heart was racing and your hands were shaking. You knelt down to his level and looked into his glass eyes. Was there something to be seen in them? A glint of awareness? Was this doll alive? You couldn’t fathom any other explanation. Even if you didn’t believe in spirits, there certainly wasn’t a better explanation than that one. You had heard stories of people being haunted by their loved ones, surely this was Brahms, or at the very least a version of him. Perhaps it was Brahms who hasn't moved on, not the Heelshire's.

You waved your hand across his face, hoping to notice a change in his eyes. But he remained still, and unmoving. This was the scariest thing that has happened in your life, and yet you felt a sense of ease. This message was not one with evil intent, as you have seen in horror movies involving ghosts. Brahms was giving you a gift. If he had taken your journal, he must have read you have a love for nature, hence the gift of flowers. When did he pick this? It must have been sometime before you were awake. 

“Brahms, I-I don’t understand. There’s no way you could have picked these. Please Brahms, show me I’m not crazy…” You cupped the side of Brahms’s cold, porcelain face, desperate for an answer.

You gave Brahms time to react, or to give you any sort of sign. You were quiet and patient, willing to wait and listen. Brahms remained quiet and unmoving, your hand dropped from his face onto the bed next to him in a fist. Tears of frustration flowed down your face, or were they tears of defeat? Was this really what your life had come to? Were you so tired and lonely that you went as far as believing a doll was communicating with you? You felt like an utter fool. You wiped your tears and calmed yourself.

_ ‘I need to relax. I can’t think about this right now. I’ll deal with this later.’  _ You told yourself sternly.

You lacked experience with the paranormal, but you knew that this couldn’t be anything else. You were alone in this house, no one else could have moved Brahms. First thing you decided you needed to do was to speak with Malcolm. He was the only person, other than the Heelshire's, who could explain what you were experiencing. You stood up and gently grabbed Brahms. You brought your hand to the back of his neck and the other to hold his legs steady, as if he was sleeping. You left your journal, flowers and purse on the bed and left to go to the study downstairs.

As you walked, you held onto Brahms differently than you had before, with a certain awareness for his being. Was this why the Heelshire’s had treated Brahms the way they did? How did Brahms die? You had seen his gravestone outside, but it only held a quote, and the years he lived. 

The sun had risen further in the sky, illuminating the house and warming the halls. The bright morning light was heavenly to the dark atmosphere the house radiated, it was as if the light had purified the floorboards it had graced. You walked into the study and went over to the music player. You turned the machine on with one hand, placing the needle on the record, and setting the volume as you had been instructed by Mrs. Heelshire. The music started blaring, probably loud enough you could hear it from anywhere in the house. You placed Brahms on an armchair by the window, overlooking the driveway for the manor. You sat at the opposite chair and curled your knees to your chest, leaning your chin onto your arms as you waited patiently for your delivery boy. It looked so beautiful outside, you had wished for a moment that you could go hiking in the surrounding areas. That was, however, against the rules. After a couple of minutes, a car drove up to the iron gates, Malcolm stepped out and pulled them open for his car. You lifted your chin and smiled to yourself. You were ready to be around a real person again. Malcolm always came in through the back door, so you waited outside until he pulled up next to you. He rolled down his window and flashed a bright smile.

"Ah, I see you have been waiting eagerly for my arrival, Miss Claire."

“Maybe,” You grinned, it was satisfying to hear his voice, “ Maybe I'm just excited to get more Pop Tarts.” You leaned against his car door.

“Well, I suppose you're in luck then. Oh! I also got you this,” He reached to the passenger seat of his car and grabbed a small book, “As per your request. Something “entertaining” to read.”

You took the book that was handed to you and read the title aloud.

“The Secret Garden.” You raised a brow and looked at him curiously.

“You’ve never read it before? I thought it was a world-wide classic.” He tilted his head.

“No, I’ve read it. I just find it funny you picked one of my childhood books is all.” You chuckled to yourself and gave a tired smile, “Anyway, thank you. I’m sure Brahms and I will enjoy reading it together.”

“Ah, no worries! I don’t mind grabbing extra things for you, my dear.” Malcolm turned his car off and walked to the trunk, “I was thinking we could sit and chat? I don’t have anything else to do for awhile.” 

“That would be nice.” You nodded and accepted his offer, “I actually had some things I wanted to ask you.”

Malcolm handed you one of the lighter boxes, taking one of his own and carrying it inside. There were only a couple more crates before you had them all transported inside. The music was still playing loudly in the study, slightly drowned out from it being in another room. Malcolm looked out in the hallway.

“Brahms is in the study I would presume?” He began unpacking the fresh vegetables.

“Yeah, I wanted to get his music lessons over with for the day.” You said quietly, unpacking some canned soups.

“So, how has it been? Have you gone mental yet?” 

“You know, I’ve been asking myself the same question.” You replied with a small chuckle.

Malcolm looked up at you with concern, “Everything okay?”

“Well, I have been having some weird things going on.” You rubbed the back of your neck awkwardly, “I wanted to ask you, actually, if anything weird has ever happened for you while you were here.”

“Hmm, weird things? Like what?” Malcolm slid the cans you had stacked over to his side of the table and began placing them inside the pantry.

“Have you ever seen Brahms move?” You questioned.

“No.” Malcolm replied plainly.

“Never? Not even like his head or something?” 

“Definitely not.” He laughed and turned back towards you, “I’m guessing that would be the “weird” thing you are referring to?”

“Do you believe in ghosts?” You changed the subject, your tone deadly serious.

“I do.” Malcolm nodded

“Do you think...” You paused, the words were starting to catch in your throat, “Do you think Brahms’s spirit is in the house or maybe the doll?”

Malcolm leaned on the table and looked down at his boots for a moment, “I don’t want to talk about it and scare you, is all.”

“I just need to know that I’m not going crazy.” You leaned towards him, the desperation clear in your tired eyes.

“Alright, let’s finish up, then we can talk. I don’t want the dairy to go bad.” He joked, hoping to lighten the tense atmosphere.

After you and Malcolm had put the groceries away, you signed off on the list, confirming that everything had been delivered as promised. You started a pot of coffee and sat across from Malcolm. He sat with his hands folded, still unsure and cautious of scaring you. It was as if you and the whole house were eagerly waiting for him to tell his story.

“So, what do you want to know?” He cleared his throat.

“Everything. Start from the beginning, please. Don’t leave any detail out.” You asked quietly.

Malcolm hesitantly began the story, first explaining about Brahms’s friend, Emily Cribbs. They must have been close friends, because she came out of town nearly twice a week to play. Until Brahms’s eighth birthday, when she was found brutally murdered in the forest nearby the manor. Malcolm obeyed your wishes and laid all the details he knew out for you. Her head smashed to a pulp from a nearby stone and her mysterious killer never to be found. 

“Everyone in town knew it was Brahms, but when the police went to question him the same day, the fire had already gotten so out of control and nothing could have been done to save him. The police got the fire department to look into and they determined it had started from a small source, like a birthday candle. They think Brahms was trying to light one for himself when something happened and it got out of hand. Some people in town believe it, others think the Heelshire’s killed him on purpose.” He sighed, “Emily Cribbs’s family couldn’t stay here anymore, so they left soon after and the Heelshire’s had the doll made after that. It’s a way to cope, I suppose.”

You started biting your finger anxiously, “That’s terrible! People can be so cruel can’t they? The Heelshire’s wouldn’t purposely burn their son alive, right?”

“Look, I know this job pays well and all, but you have to be mindful of your safety, Claire.” Malcolm reached out and softly grabbed your hand on the table, “If Brahms’s spirit is here, there’s no telling what he’ll do to you. You could end up just like Emily.”

“I came here and gave my word to the Heelshire’s I would care for Brahms. I don’t know what happened between him and Emily, or if anything did at all, but what matters is that I have been treating him as a real child. I think he knows that too. He wrote in my journal, Malcolm. He gave me flowers as a gift. I think maybe he just wants someone to see him, and understand him. We have no idea the suffering he experienced that day and the loneliness he’s felt for twenty years in that doll.” You rambled on, softly rubbing your thumb across the top of Malcolm’s hand.

“I trust your judgement. You have been spending the most time with him, after all.” He looked nervously to the hallway in which music was still playing from, “If you ever need me to come get you, call. We can figure something out together.” Malcolm offered quietly.

You looked up at Malcolm with a sense of shock, a blush rushing to your face. You were unsure of what to say, his sincerity was so intense that it threw you off guard. People rarely looked out for what you needed, and his offer seemed genuine.

“Thank you,” You brushed your hair behind your ear, “Honestly, thank you.”

Malcolm leaned forward and gave you a gentle kiss on the cheek. Your face was completely red now, and the surprise was obvious. You let go of his hand and stood up quickly. Malcolm stood up after you, after seeing your reaction he quickly regretted making such a move.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” He apologized quickly, a blush of embarrassment spreading across his own face, “I totally read the situation wrong. Truly, it won’t happen again.”

“No, it’s okay!” You hushed his frantic apologizing and moved to his side of the table, “It’s hard for me to do that kind of stuff.” You admitted quietly.

“Oh.” Malcolm said plainly, “I didn’t realize you were new to all that.”

“No, no, I was with someone before and he,” You could feel the words catching in your throat. You had yet to speak with anyone the atrocities you had faced while with David. “He hurt me in a lot of ways and to be honest, I still haven’t gotten over it.” You spoke slowly, to make sure your words were spoken as you had intended. 

Malcolm placed a hand on your shoulder, using his thumb to rub it in a comforting motion. You suppose he didn’t want to say the wrong thing, so he opted not to say anything at all. You did just admit to being in an abusive relationship and you weren’t entirely sure what was an appropriate way to react.

“I’m sorry, I made this really awkward.” You apologized instinctively when he didn’t say anything.

“I’m honestly just glad you didn’t slap me across the face or something.” He joked lightly, making you giggle, “Next time, I’ll ask you first, I don’t want to remind you of the man you were with before.”

“You don’t know how much that means to me, Malcolm.” 

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Miss Claire.”

Malcolm grabbed his jacket from the back of the kitchen chair and slipped it on. He gave a quick glance back at the hallway and shook his head.

“I do think your mental for staying here, however.” He admitted.

“I promise to call if anything happens.” You responded quietly, worried about Brahms over hearing.

You guided Malcolm out of the house, watching him get into his car. He started the engine and waved a goodbye, to which you waved back. You watched his car until it disappeared past the heavy iron gates.

_ ‘Please don’t make me regret staying here, Brahms.’  _ You thought to yourself on your way back inside.


	3. Lunch In The Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire has lunch with Brahms in the garden.

As soon as you had walked back into the kitchen, you knew something was wrong. The music that had been so loudly playing was now deadly quiet. You walked to the end of the kitchen table and grabbed “The Secret Garden” from off the top of it. 

_‘Obviously Brahms is tired of listening to his music.’_ You sarcastically told yourself, the house was now feeling incredibly more tense than when you had awoken this morning.

You walked out of the kitchen and peered down the hallway. It was empty. The sun had risen higher now, causing the decorative lines from the windows to cast onto the floor. They looked like dark cage bars, solidifying the helplessness you are feeling walking towards the study. This tension reminded you of David. When he had said something in a tone that was slightly off, placed his briefcase a little too rough on the table, or the way he clenched his jaw when you had said something he didn’t like. It was similar to that, but with this house. 

Your movement was slow and quiet, your socks had provided excellent padding from the rug on the ground, making it almost impossible to hear you walking. The walls seemed to have eyes of their own, so no matter where you were, something was watching you. Perhaps this whole time it had been Brahms’s spirit. It was likely that he wasn’t only bound by the doll, though you hoped that wasn’t the case. It was no wonder the Heelshire’s didn’t need nanny cams, they had someone here making sure you were doing your job well. His eyes didn’t feel necessarily evil, or judgmental, but curious. You were so different from what Brahms was used to, he must have wanted to understand everything about you. You were an American after all, and that was something he had never encountered before. 

You had reached the study now, and gave a hesitant step inside. Chaos had unfolded while you were out of the room. Books had been thrown on the ground from their shelves, and you saw that the chair you had previously been sitting in was overturned. Brahms was no longer looking outside like you had positioned him to. Instead he was looking at you, standing in the doorway of the study with your arms crossed protectively. You felt a ragged breath leave your chest, your throat suddenly going dry. The music was so unreasonably loud that it must have masked the destruction while you spoke with Malcolm. The scene before you was all too familiar. You were so tired of picking up other people's messes.

“Why Brahms? Why? Why did you make such a mess?” You sighed in annoyance and rolled up your long sleeves, kneeling down to pick up the books that had been strewn around the room, “I wasn’t expecting this kind of behavior from you.” 

Brahms response, as always, was silence. You couldn’t understand why he only acted when you couldn’t actually see it. Maybe it was some childish game, you couldn’t understand. Did he find your reactions amusing? He probably wasn’t able to surprise or shock his parents anymore like he could with you. It was probably a welcome change from his normal environment. This was obviously a tantrum. The room was tense and had felt completely opposite to when he had left you the small bundle of flowers in your journal. Malcolm had delivered the groceries like he was supposed to, so no rule was broken there. It had to have been Malcolm’s kiss then. You looked over your shoulder at Brahms, he was watching you clean his mess with a cold, and unnerving gaze.

“I didn’t know Malcolm was going to kiss me. It’s not fair to get mad at me.” You admitted sheepishly, “Do you not like Malcolm?” You asked, not expecting a reply.

It was frustrating. It seemed as if Brahms didn’t want you to care for anyone else but him. Malcolm obviously liked you, and yet you still were unsure of how you felt about him. He was always sweet, charismatic and went out of his way to do nice things for you. He had taken your reaction well, and didn’t seem too upset by it. You had just thought of Malcolm as a friend, and then there he was, gently kissing your cheek. It was so soft, so sweet, that you would have hardly felt it at all if it weren’t for his scratchy beard. Your only problem was, you were worried you only thought of Malcolm this way because of how lonely you had been here. You made a mental note to make a final decision about Malcolm before you saw him again next week. You snapped back to reality and continued to pick up the books once more. You thought back to what Malcolm had explained to you, the story about Brahms’s eighth birthday and poor Emily.

_‘Let’s say for a moment, Brahms didn’t kill Emily. His only friend is taken away from him, most likely he witnessed the whole thing. Maybe Brahms was trying, in some odd way, to explain he wasn’t like what Malcolm had said. He had already lost Emily. Without you, he would truly be alone.’_ Your thoughts were sad, but you couldn't help but try to justify Brahms’s actions. He was just a child when he died, was he still a child now, or did his spirit mature those twenty years?

You took the books you had gathered and fixed the pages that had gotten roughly bent by being tossed. You had always hated creased pages. It didn’t take long to put the books back properly, as they were alphabetized before. All you had to do was fill in the gaps.

“There we go, books cleaned up,” You turned and flipped the chair back over and sat down in it once more, “...and the chair put back in place.” You smiled in satisfaction.

“This was the gift I had gotten for us,” You placed the book on the table and gave it a push towards Brahms, “We can read it, together, but no more throwing things okay? I’m the one who has to clean it up.”

You swiftly picked the book up and got comfortable in your chair. It had been a long time since you last picked this book up, and you were eager to read it once more. Reading out loud to Brahms felt natural. The words flowed easily off your tongue and it was as if eager ears drank in every word. You had read this story many times when you were younger, but you had forgotten just how much you had truly admired it. It was refreshing to reread it, and it sparked the childlike curiosity you had once held in your heart. This story was first introduced to you by your father, who would read you stories before bed. He was a silly narrator because everyone had a funny voice and always had an exaggerated tone, no matter the situation. You guessed he tried his best to make it as appealing to you as possible. Once he was gone, you had to read the stories yourself. The voices weren’t as funny when you tried to say them.

Time had passed faster than you had anticipated, the low grumbling of your stomach was an indicator that it was time for lunch. You had already read two chapters, and figured you should limit how many you read in one day. You picked Brahms up and placed him on your hip, your mood had lightened and you were beginning to feel more comfortable staying here.

“I think it’s about lunch time, I’m a bit hungry. Let’s go see what we can make. You know, if it’s nice enough today, we can have a picnic.” You fixed Brahms’s tie as you walked into the kitchen.  
You placed him in his usual chair at the kitchen table and peered out the window to the garden. It was sunny, and it looked like the trees were hardly swaying in the wind. Perfect weather for a lunch outside.

“It looks beautiful outside, have you ever had lunch in the garden?” You asked quietly, “I bet we can find a nice spot by the fountain.”

It didn’t take long to assemble a fresh lunch for the two of you. You had made sandwiches with peppered turkey and white cheddar cheese, and had washed baby carrots for a crisp snack. With lunch prepared the last thing you would need is a blanket or quilt. You rummaged through the many closets upstairs in hopes of finding some spare blankets. The closets held nothing more than dusty shoes boxes and old winter jackets. 

_‘They have to have some old blankets around here somewhere.’_ You thought to yourself, slowly pacing down the hallway back towards the main stairs.

Suddenly, something on the ceiling caught your attention. A dark outline of wooden outline highlighted an attic stairwell, a small hook at the end facing towards you. You looked around the hallway for something to pull it down with and found an umbrella basket. It held several umbrellas and a long wooden bar that almost looked like a fire poker. The end was iron and was hooked to the side in order to easily latch onto the attic door. You pulled it out and tested the weight in your hands, it was heavier than it looked. You lifted the bar up uneasily as you stood on your tiptoes to reach the notch. The bar missed the small notch a few times due to your shaky arms, but you finally hooked it. You pulled on the bar for a couple of seconds, the attic door wasn’t budging. You gave it another try, this time using all of your body weight to pull it onto the door. It moved slightly, obviously not used to being opened very often. The door creaked loudly in protest but after a couple of more tries you were able to open it far enough that the momentum of it coming down helped you bring the rest down effortlessly. It thundered and slammed down onto the floor heavily, easily scarring you by the noise alone. You tossed the bar onto the ground and took a second to catch your breath. The sun from the nearby windows highlighted the dust that drifted softly from above. The attic was clearly not used very often. 

You walked in front of the stairs and looked up into the dark abyss. You stepped onto the first stair, testing the strength in the wood. It creaked against your weight, but seemed strong enough for you to climb on. You began your descent up the stairs. Warm, stale air hit your forehead and then filled your lungs as your head poked level with the attic floor. It was dark, and filled with many unidentifiable items. The floor had a thin layer of dust that settled from the years it had last been visited. As you pulled yourself up fully, you gave your eyes a minute to adjust to the darkness. A boarded window sat high above your head, pale light streamed through the wood, illuminating a narrow walkway ahead of you. You followed the dim path ahead, looking around for any blankets or anything that would reasonably have blankets inside them. There were many things up here, chairs, lamps and tables. On those tables were tons of boxes and other things to clutter the attic. You walked over a wooden support beam on the ground and found yourself in a more open space. The light from the window guided your eye to a heavy trunk. You knelt down and moved several boxes off the top of it. The top of the trunk was lighter than you had expected, and inside you were pleased to find some blankets. You snuck your hands underneath the quilt on the top and picked it up. It looked like it had been hand sewn, perhaps it was some of Mrs. Heelshire’s work? You set it on the ground next to you and looked curiously inside. There appeared to be more blankets and you would have left it at that, until your eyes graced over something dark sticking out from between the fabric. You pushed the blankets aside and uncovered a black leather binder. On the front was a piece of paper stuck into a decorative holder, it was labeled “1983 - 1991”

Your fingers grasped the binder and you sat down in a more comfortable position on the floor. You used the light from the window to look inside the binder. There were old photos of the Heelshire family. The first pages were filled with adorable baby pictures. They must have been of Brahms when he was a toddler. He looked dressed up, these pictures must have marked one of his first birthdays. He had dark hair that had been slicked back and styled neatly for the pictures. He was holding a teddy bear that was as big as he was. As you turned more pages you found more and more pictures of young Brahms. Among these pages were pictures of Emily and Brahms playing together. Emily seemed very sweet and friendly, because in every picture she was in, she had a bright smile. She was always near Brahms, and in many pictures she was hugging him or touching shoulders. Even Brahms had a grin on his face. Your own smile faded and you closed the binder.

_‘Brahms couldn’t have killed Emily. They looked so happy together. Maybe while I am here, Brahms can tell me what happened.’_ You were beginning to convince yourself that little Brahms was a victim just like Emily.

You placed the binder back into the trunk and put the blankets back on top of it. The Heelshire’s must have hidden it away after Brahms died, seeing as it was planted among the blankets. You sighed and moved the boxes back on top of the trunk. You had begun to sweat from being up here for so long, dust was already starting to collect on your clothes. You picked the blanket up and carefully made your way out of the attic once more.

You dusted yourself off and wiped the sweat that had gathered on your forehead. You knelt down and started to lift the attic stairs back up, when they folded themselves and ducked back into the ceiling with a thunderous clap. You jumped at the sound and rubbed your arm to soothe your nerves.

_‘That’ll be the last time I go up there.’_ You told yourself firmly.

Now that you had a blanket and lunch ready, it was time to take Brahms’s out for the picnic. You made your way downstairs and peered into the kitchen. Brahms was still sitting in his chair as you had left him, nothing in the kitchen had appeared to move either.

“Alright, I found us a blanket! You will not believe how dusty the attic is.” You laughed to yourself and walked to the counter where you had left the food, “I’ll go get everything set up, and then I’ll come back inside for you, okay?”

You walked to the back door and slipped on your shoes that you had been using for when you needed to go outside. The sun was shining brightly now, and was almost blinding in your eyes. You held up your forearm to your forehead to block the sun and began walking towards the large fountain in the gardens. The grass was overgrown and is in desperate need for a mowing. You followed the weeded cobblestone path to the fountain. Birds were singing and few had gathered around the fountain edge for some cool water. As you came closer, they flew off to the nearby trees. The surrounding area of the fountain was just as overgrown as the rest of the gardens. You opted to have your picnic by some blooming bushes. A nearby tree casted a heavy shadow over the spot of your choosing, you had a tendency to get sunburnt easily, so you picked something that would be in the shade. You unfolded the blanket and gave it a couple of steady swings to beat off the rest of the dust that had gathered onto it. You spread it out over the tall grass and placed the wrapped sandwiches and tupperware of carrots in the middle. Now to get Brahms. You retraced your steps back to the house and peered up at it in it’s grand beauty. A shadow passed in a window on the second floor, as if something hadn’t wanted to be seen. Your steps slowed and you watched the window, there was no other movement you could see. You shook your head and continued forward inside.

Brahms waited patiently in his chair for you to return. You assumed that if he wasn’t moving himself or objects around him, that he was happy with your choice to eat outside. You briskly picked him up and escorted him to your spot for lunch. You carefully sat him on the blanket, making sure he wouldn’t slump over. You sat down across from him, already beginning to unwrap your sandwich.

“You know, I am a bit jealous of you Brahms.” You began through your mouth of food, “I always wanted to live in a big house like this, or have a nice garden to play in. It must have been so much fun playing with Emily.” 

“Maybe, when it’s nice like this again we can go on a hike in the nearby area. I bet you know all the trails in the forest.” You quickly stopped talking about Emily, you weren’t sure if that was something that Brahms even wanted to talk about.

You took your time finishing up your lunch. The day was so beautiful, so warm, that you couldn’t help but sit there and watch the soft, white clouds pass slowly over head. It was happy moments like this that made you so thankful to be here. To be alone in this strange place, with this strange doll. Your life before was confined to your minimalist office or home with David, and now you had the freedom to do whatever you had wished. As long as it fit into Brahms’s rules, of course, but they were more in place to keep up the routine that Brahms had gotten so used to for twenty years. A weight had been lifted off your shoulders, you’ve never felt so unbound and content with life. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, you listened to the sounds of the fountain and to the birds singing high above you in the trees. You weren’t sure how long you were outside for but you knew you would have to go back inside sooner than later. You opened your eyes and yawned, staying out in the sun had reminded you of just how tired you were.

“Why don’t we head inside, I think I’m going to fall asleep if I stay out here any longer.” You joked and began cleaning up.

You folded the blanket up tightly and carried it inside with one arm, the other holding Brahms on your hip. You nudged the door open with your foot and kicked your shoes off just inside of the house. You placed the blanket onto the table, and carefully placed the leftover food from lunch into the fridge. 

“Well, what should we do now Brahms?” You walked out of the kitchen and down the hallway, you had no real destination but you felt the urge to wander in the house.   
Out of nowhere, the phone began to ring from the study. You looked behind you and then back at Brahms. 

“Maybe it’s Malcolm?” You shrugged and walked over to quickly answer the phone. You took your hand from Brahms’s back, grabbed the phone and brought it to your ear.

“Heelshire’s residence.” You greeted plainly. The caller didn’t speak, but you swore you could hear them breathing into the receiver.

“Hello? Can you hear me?” You furrowed your brows, looking at Brahms idly. 

The caller hung up abruptly, sending your call to an end. You bit your lip and gently put the phone back onto the base.

_‘They probably called the wrong number. Nothing to worry about.’_ You told yourself.

“Well, I guess I’ll go check on the laundry then. Will you sit in here? You can pick up the phone if that person calls back.” You gently placed Brahms down on the couch and went back to the scary laundry room. 

Your laundry was finished, and probably had been for some time, you had forgotten all about it. You swore under your breath and hoped that your clothes weren’t mildewy. You opened the washer door, but found your clothes missing. You couldn’t remember switching them over or putting them away, but to be sure, you checked the dryer. The door opened, and revealed the clothes from the washer.

_‘I definitely didn’t switch these over,’_ You looked at your clothes with a puzzling gaze, _‘Did Brahms switch my laundry over?’_

You placed a hand into the dryer to pull out the clothes. They were still warm, as if their drying cycle had recently finished. You knew you were forgetful, but you knew you weren’t this forgetful. You hated being down here so much that you doubted you would forget a trip here.

_‘This had to have been Brahms.’_ You pulled out your laundry and put them into your basket unfolded, _‘He was looking out for me.’_

You hooked the basket on your waist and carried them out of the laundry room. You walked upstairs to your room with a small smile on your face. It had definitely felt nice to know someone in this world had your back, even if that meant they did little things like bringing you flowers or making sure your forgotten laundry got finished. You began to wonder if your time here was going to be like this from now on, your silent friend watching over you. Your smile turned into a frown, what were you going to do when the time came for you to leave? This house had turned into a safe haven for you. You couldn’t explain it, but in only two weeks time, you had already felt more like yourself. Once the Heelshire’s returned however, they wouldn’t need you around anymore.

_‘Maybe I can convince them, or maybe Brahms can.’_

You reached your room, and placed the basket on your bed. You began folding the clothes neatly and placing them in their specific spots like you had arranged earlier this morning. You placed your hands on your hips and looked at the closet with satisfaction. Nothing was going to go missing this time. You walked back downstairs with a bounce in your step. Today you woke up terrified and anxious, now you were giddy and felt happier than you had the last few days. If things kept going like this, you wouldn’t ever want to leave.


	4. The Letter and The Rain Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire finds out the Heelshire's have passed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went back and edited the chapter near the end. I reread it and I don't know it felt too short, too boring! I think this version is better, so if you haven't I recommend rereading the last part just to make sure you understand where I left Claire off at. I may or may not edit it a bit more later, but just to be more descriptive in my writing. What happened in this chapter is going to stay the same regardless if I edit it anymore. Thanks!

You shifted softly in your sleep, the warm blankets of your bed protected you from the chilly air of the room. You felt yourself stirring and opened your eyes slowly. The room was dark and from above your head you could hear the sounds of rain tapping against your window. It had been raining on and off like this for a least two weeks now. The storm had gathered over the Heelshire manor and had yet to leave you in peace. You weren’t sure what time it was, but it felt as if you needed five more hours of sleep. You shifted onto your side and leaned over to your nightstand to grab your phone. The screen turned on and nearly blinded you in the process. You winced and quickly lowered the brightness, revealing that it was only 5:20 in the morning. You sighed and sat up in your bed, there was no point in trying to fall back asleep anyway.

It was Saturday, which meant no lessons for Brahms. On the weekends you generally allowed the pair of you to sleep in an hour or two. Although your job was simple, you still found yourself exhausted at the end of the day. You figured your body was trying to get back the sleep you had lost when you were with David. Your world revolved around his, and that meant sacrificing your energy whenever he pleased. He had insomnia and that meant you did too. He would call and call, and if you didn’t respond then he would come to you in person. You crossed your legs and placed your elbows on your knees, holding your tired face in your hands. You were tired of thinking about David, it seemed like no matter how happy you were he still had a way of creeping back into your mind. Like now, you had just woken up and were already thinking about his possessiveness. You couldn’t remember exactly what he did to make you so dependent on him and you reasoned it was most likely little things over time. It seemed like no matter how far apart you were, he still had control over you. You swung your legs over the side of your bed and turned the lights on. There was no point in thinking about all of this unless you were going to write it down. You grabbed your purse and fished your journal and a pen out of it, you then sat back onto the bed and began writing.

_“It’s been nearly two months since I left David. It seems like it was forever ago and that I should be over everything by now. I can’t stop thinking about him and all the bad things he’s done to me. I think about all the things I should have done differently, and all the things I could have said. I thought being away from him would have helped, but it hasn’t. Well, that’s not really true, I have been sleeping better and I am actually eating. Being alone here has been a great way for me to start being myself again._

_Taking care of Brahms hasn’t been what I expected, but I don’t want to leave. I like staying here, I like doing my own thing. There’s things that happen here that I can’t explain, but it feels like I am not truly alone. I want to keep nannying Brahms for as long as I can, I don’t know where I will go once this is over. Once that time comes, I need to be ready. I have to start moving on from David and start working on myself.”_

You finished your thoughts and dated the bottom of the page. You normally had more to write, but this felt good enough for now. It wasn’t uncommon for you to go back and add things to unfinished pages anyway. You were about to close the book, when you thought back to Brahms’s note. You flicked through the pages and found it once more. It was still there, and still the biggest piece of evidence that you were not alone. You reread it carefully, analyzing it over and over again. It was straight forward, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that it meant so much more than a simple gift.

_‘What am I missing?’_

Brahms was perplexing, you could never tell when something was going to happen, or what would occur. Many times Brahms himself would move from where you had left him, as if it was a small game of hide and seek. You found it odd that he would never move in your presence and you wondered what he looked like when he moved. You knew now that Brahms wasn't just contained to the doll however. Footsteps from afar or doors shutting from upstairs were common to hear. Every now and then Brahms would do something nice or helpful for you, such as making your bed or cleaning the spoiled food from the freezer. You had a thought in the back of your mind that kept resurfacing no matter how hard you ignored it. Just ask him. Ask him to explain himself in one way or another. Speak to the doll.

You got out of bed and went into your closet. The light bulb clicked on above you, illuminating the few shirts and even fewer dresses you had hung up. Today you were going to need something older, and something you wouldn't mind getting dirty. Cleaning was your duty for the day, and although the Heelshire’s didn’t mention any cleaning tasks outside of taking care of the rat traps, it didn’t take long for you to be bothered by the state of the house. You tried to ignore the dust that began to stick to the bookshelves in the study or the fact the windows weren’t as clear as they had been when you had first arrived. Most of your time was dedicated to caring for Brahms, but today, today was different. 

You grabbed a faded flannel and a tank top to wear underneath. You then took out an older pair of denim jeans to pair with it. As you button up your shirt in the mirror you notice the tightness of the shirt in your arms and chest. You tilted your head and turned to the side to see your body from another angle. You had gained some weight, which was a bittersweet sight. You knew you David had given you some unhealthy ideas about weight and size, so it was nice to see your body was starting to recover from that. At the same time, those thoughts still lingered, and you found it difficult not to criticize your appearance. You shook your head and quickly moved from outside of the mirror. Best to distract yourself. 

It was still too early to wake Brahms, you knew you would be upset to be awoken early on a weekend, so you walked past his room quietly. You bounced down the stairs as you thought about what you would make the pair of you for breakfast. Your knowledge of cooking was limited, and you hated to admit but you were slowly getting tired of eating the same few dishes on repeat. Your steps slowed as you passed the study, it was likely it held a cookbook that had more creative breakfast dishes. You took quick glances between each bookshelf until your eyes stumbled upon a small section of cookbooks. You pulled out the first book in the section and began swiping through the pages. The book was actually a journal that seemed to be quite old, the pages were handwritten and yellowed. Many of the pages had detailed instructions and notes throughout, most referred to Brahms. Many had information about what Brahms did and didn't like, as you read through you found that he had a preference for the savory dishes and he found the spicy dishes "unpleasant" as the writer of the book put it. You assumed that this book was Mrs. Heelshire's, maybe even her mother's due to the state of the journal. You flipped through the pages and made your way to the kitchen, not bothering to look up. Many of these dishes were over the top, and not fitting for breakfast anyway. You stopped searching when you found a page labelled "Full English Breakfast", this page was newer and as you read it had a lot of components, but near the bottom of the page was a small note. 

_“A personal favorite of Brahms’s.”_

_'This seems like a breakfast for a grown man, not a child.'_ You thought to yourself, but shrugged it off as Mrs. Heelshire indulging Brahms as much as she could. 

Although the recipe states that it only takes 30 minutes to prepare the food, you decided to go slow and make sure the food tasted good as you went. The last thing you wanted was to make Brahms's favorite dish poorly. The dish consisted of 5 parts, two English pork sausages, two pieces of back bacon, a cup of baked beans, bread fried in vegetable oil, and finally sunny side up eggs. Being an American, you would have never thought to eat beans for breakfast, but as you read you found that they weren't barbecue beans instead they were in a plain tomato sauce. You found that the dish was relatively simple to make, even more so with the help of Mrs. Heelshire’s summary of the dish at the end of the recipe.

_“...the bacon and sausage is to be cooked well-done, but not burnt. Although the recipe only calls for one egg, Brahms needs two for a boy of his size…”_

The smell of the cooked bacon and sausage wafted into your nose and filled your senses. You smiled to yourself and used a fork to check underneath the meat, ensuring it wasn’t burnt. These smells reminded you of the early mornings you once spent with your family. Your mother once loved to make a big breakfast on Sundays, but those ceased alongside your father. Your smile faded and you turned back to focusing on the food. Once the meat finished cooking, you transferred them from the iron skillet onto plates for both you and Brahms. There was so much food, you doubted that Brahms ever really ate it all. In the pictures you saw of Brahms, he was a small boy, and this much food was probably to spur his growth.

You checked your phone and saw that enough time had passed for you to wake Brahms for breakfast. You weren’t sure why, but you were excited to see if he would like it. Once the dining room table was set for you and Brahms, you went upstairs to his bedroom. You slowed your steps just outside of the door, and gave it a soft knock before opening it. 

“Good morning Brahms, it’s time to-” Your words cut off by a small gasp, your heart nearly jumped out of your chest.

Brahms was sitting up in his bed, waiting for you to come to him. Brahms was dressed for the day, his pajamas were neatly folded on the dresser. You placed a hand over your heart, as if to calm it from beating out of your chest. He must have heard you wake up, or smelled breakfast and gotten himself ready. 

“You got dressed all by yourself…" You stood at the doorway for a moment, feeling frozen in your spot.

You snapped back into reality and moved to open up the curtains of his bedroom, letting in what little morning light that peaked through the rainy clouds. You cleared your throat awkwardly and turned to face Brahms.

“I found a cookbook in the study this morning, I believe I made one of your favorites,” You said eagerly, “I hope it tastes as good as when your mom would make it for you.” 

You walked over to Brahms’s bed and picked him up from underneath his armpits, looking at his brown eyes carefully as you held him in front of you. Still, he persisted at remaining lifeless in your presence. You frowned deeply and placed him on your hip, you started to walk out of the room and began to start your day with Brahms by talking to him as casually as you could.

“Did you sleep well Brahms? I woke up early this morning and couldn’t fall back asleep.” You walked down the stairs, taking a moment to look out the large windows by the stairs. The garden looked nearly flooded with the amount of rain the English countryside had been getting, muddy puddles dotted the lawn and you could see leaves and branches that had been torn from the trees and thrown to the ground by the rain.

“It’s raining still.” You sighed and continued walking, “I wish it would let up already, I can’t tell you how many buckets I’ve had to put around the house.”

As you spoke with Brahms, it felt like he was truly listening to you speak. The smell from breakfast lingered in the house, and got stronger as you walked into the dining room. 

“Tah dah! Full English Breakfast.” You smiled brightly and placed Brahms in the chair next to you, “Mrs. Heelshire said you liked two eggs, not one, and I made sure your bacon is well done.” You explained with giddy and sat down in your own chair to eat.

Breakfast was quiet, and the house seemed at ease. You assumed Brahms “liked” his food, although he never touched it. Perhaps it was the action of making something special for him that pleased him. All you knew was that you were definitely not going to be able to eat lunch, you hardly finished your helping of food. The rain eased to a stop as breakfast went on, allowing the sounds of the morning to echo throughout the house. The heavy clouds parted to allow a moment of warm morning light to enter the house. Birds began their morning song, taking this moment to awaken and stretch their wings. You pushed your chair out and began to gather the plates and silverware from breakfast. As you placed your plate from breakfast into the kitchen sink, you heard the sound of a car door shut outside. You snapped into the direction of the sound, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion. The backdoor of the kitchen opened, and entered a very solemn looking Malcolm. He wiped his muddy boots off on the mat by the backdoor and walked into the kitchen.

“Malcolm? What are you doing here?” You smiled softly, wondering if he had come to spend time with you.

“I was just, uh, delivering some news.” Malcolm’s eyes flicked up at you nervously and back down the mail in his hands, “I’m not sure how I should say this really.” He cleared his throat and sat down at the old kitchen table.

You copied Malcolm’s actions, sitting across from him. Whatever this news was, it couldn’t be good. Malcolm hardly was ever without a smile, it made you worried to see him like this.

“Right, well, I wanted to come earlier but the rain had been a nightmare. I thought about calling but then I thought that I should probably tell you in person.”

You remained quiet, not wanting to interrupt. Malcolm took a breath and looked at you carefully.

“The Heelshire’s were found dead a few days ago. The police ruled their deaths as suicide. Walked into a lake with their pockets full of stones…” His words fumbled out of his mouth, as if he wasn’t really sure how to say them.

You took a deep breath into your tightening chest and looked away awkwardly, you weren’t sure what to say. Malcolm shuffled through the mail in his hands until he found two letters. He took them out of the stack and handed them both to you. One letter looked thinner than the other.

“One for you, and one for Brahms.” Malcolm sighed, “Just be prepared to read it, I have no idea if they’ll be anything like mine.”

“You got a letter from them too?” Your fingers gently took the letter from Malcolm, the paper weighed heavy in your hand. Your eyes couldn’t move from your name written in a delicate cursive across the front of the letter. The letter written for you had been the thinner of the two. You wondered what the Heelshire's had written to you and Brahms.

“Of course, they asked for me to continue my deliveries for you and Brahms. They thanked me for my help and being such a gentleman. That’s what they said.” He scratched at his subtle and watched as you looked at the letter.

Your fingernail scraped underneath the red wax seal and you pulled out several pieces of paper from inside the envelope. You looked at Malcolm with unsure eyes.

“You don’t have to read it Claire.” Malcolm spoke softly, his voice calm and supportive.

“Your right, I know.” You nodded your head, “I’ll read it later. It’s a lot at one time.” You quickly put the paper back into the envelope and placed them both aside.

“Would you like a hug?” Malcolm leaned forward with a comforting smile on his face, “Only if you want to, of course.”

You nodded your head, unable to get the words from your throat out. You both stood up from your chairs and stood in front of each other. Malcolm put his hands onto your shoulders and then pulled you into his chest for a warm hug. His movements were calm, and mindful. He wasn’t much taller than you, so your head laid on his shoulder as you embraced. He brought his hand down to your mid back and rubbed circles into it. You were confused, and saddened by the loss of the Heelshire’s. You had only met them for a brief time and yet your mind was already a buzz with remorse. The letter would answer your questions, but you couldn’t read it in front of Malcolm, it felt too personal of a moment to share. Malcolm slowed his actions and pulled apart from your embrace.

“Better?” He asked softly, his eyes looking into yours.

“A bit, yeah.” You felt a small blush spread across your face and you averted his gaze, “Thank you.”

“Any time Miss Claire.” Malcolm smiled sweetly and put his hands into the pockets of his jacket, “Would you like to go on a walk with me? I bet this bit of sunshine is only going to last so long. Might as well enjoy it before it goes.” He turned his body towards the backdoor, he seemed eager for your company. 

You looked back to the hallway to Brahms and then back to Malcolm.

_‘Brahms needs some space to read this. I’m not sure he would want me there when he does.’_ You thought to yourself.

“Let me get my jacket and some boots then.” You flashed a quick smile and grabbed the letters from off the table on your way out of the kitchen. You paused at the doorway to the dining room and looked at Brahms. You looked at Brahms with an uneasy feeling. A part of you was saddened by the news and for Brahms, but you felt a sense of relief and for that you felt guilty. You felt like you were exploiting the Heelshires.

“Hey Brahms, I’m going to go on a walk with Malcolm, okay? I have a letter for you and I want you to read it while I’m out.” You kneeled by his chair and placed his letter in front of him. You rubbed his arm as if to comfort him from what he would soon read.

You returned to Malcolm with a thick coat, a pair of combat boots and a beanie. The letter was in your room, out of sight and out of mind for now. Malcolm opened the door for you and began your walk around the manor. The air was chilly, even though it looked sunny and warm outside, it was quite the opposite.

“So, how has Brahms been?” Malcolm asked curiously, he began to lead you through the garden.

You took a moment to consider your answer, “I can feel him there, watching and listening.” You looked at Malcolm seriously, “I think the Heelshire’s felt it too. I think that’s why they…” Your voice trailed off, not wanting to finish your sentence.

“I can’t imagine the pain of losing a child. Brahms was taken in such a cruel way, they must have felt terrible.” He continued as the pair of you approached the fountain, “I should have seen it. I’ve been doing this for years now you would’ve thought I would’ve seen something.” 

You stopped walking and stood in front of Malcolm, “Please don’t say that Malcolm. If what you said about the Heelshires is true, I don’t think there was anything we could have done to change this.”

Malcolm took a deep breath and nodded, “I know, I know,” He looked back at the house and stared at the scar across the manor, “It must have been hell for them here. Everything is just a constant reminder, the smoke scar, the doll, and his ghost.”

“I suppose that’s why they wanted me here.” You added, starting to walk forward again “They wanted someone to look after Brahms while they were gone. If they still want you to deliver food, they must want me to stay too.” 

“It’s a bit mad isn't it? How long do they expect you to stay here and nanny a doll? What will happen to this place once we’re gone?” Malcolm questioned.

“I’ll stay as long as I can. I can’t imagine how Brahms is processing all of this. He needs support, as odd as that sounds.”

“That does sound crazy, yes.” Malcolm chuckled and nudged you playfully

You smiled and pushed him back softly, “I’m serious, Malcolm. I’m going to stay until I know Brahms is okay on his own. Who knows, maybe I’ll take him with me. There’s not much here for him now anyway.” You began to ramble on, a sense of relief passed over you. No more running from David. You had found a safe haven.

“I wouldn’t want you to leave anyway, I hate to say it but you’ve grown on me Miss Claire.” He responded sarcastically. 

Your walk with Malcolm was for the most part quiet after that. You didn’t mind however, it was nice to feel the presence of someone else. You felt a soft ache in your heart, an eagerness for male company. Malcolm had proved himself a gentleman, and you sensed he was mindful of the trauma you had mentioned. Someone as considerate and understanding as he was felt almost too good to be true. It occurred to you that he may only be acting this way to get into your pants. Living in a little town like Malcolm must have limited options. It’s not that you needed him anyway, you were more than capable of dealing with your desires yourself. You hadn’t dared touching yourself in the manor, being in an odd place with such odd company often snuffed your yearning for release. But it was a growing itch you were finding harder and harder to ignore. Malcolm was clearly interested in you, perhaps one day he could satisfy those needs. You just needed to get to know him better, it didn’t interest you to sleep with someone you hardly knew.

“I don’t think I ever told you...” You started and spoke slowly to select your words, “...but I’m glad we met. You’ve been so sweet and understanding…” Your words began to fumble, you were finding it hard to put the right words to your feelings.

“It’s nothing really, you're the only person who actually likes to sit down and have a chat with me.” You both stopped walking as you reached the backdoor of the manor.

“Come by anytime, please. If I am going to stay here, I hope you and I can spend more time together.” You cringed internally, you hoped that it didn’t come across too straightforward. 

“Really? I would love that. I’ll have to take you to town someday. I am told I am an amazing dancer, you know.” Malcolm smiled genuinely, he seemed touched by your words.

“I would love that.” You nodded excitedly and grasped the doorknob to get inside, “I’ll see you Monday then?”

“Has your delivery boy ever missed his drop off?” He laughed and began to back away to his car.

“Bye Malcolm.” You rolled your eyes at his joke with a smile, waving goodbye.

Malcolm waved back and got into his car to leave. You closed the door behind you, wiping the thick mud off of your shoes onto the mat. You unzipped your jacket and hooked it on the nearby wall. 

_‘I can’t believe I just did that.’_

You laughed to yourself in disbelief. You imagined you looked desperate and needy. Malcolm had to have known you only wanted sex, why else would a lonely nanny be interested? You bit at your thumb, undoing the healing process that had begun on the skin of your finger. Anxious thoughts raced through your mind as you wandered out of the kitchen towards Brahms. A small sound from the study slowed your thoughts. 

Crying.

You could hear the sounds of sniffling and sobbing from your spot in the hallway. 

_‘He must have read the letter.’_ You put a hand over your mouth and pushed forward to the dining room.

Brahms was sitting in the same spot, the envelope to his letter laid torn open in front of him. The letter itself was missing. The sounds of his crying ceased, his porcelain face was wet from tears.

“Oh Brahms…” You felt a sense of understanding for Brahms, for you had been in the same situation yourself, “It’s okay, I’m here.” You pulled Brahms’s chair out and turned it backwards towards you. 

His face had a streak of water down his right cheek from his tears. You gently raised your pointer finger and wiped it aside. You didn’t understand how he was crying, but you didn’t look too deeply into it. Before you could speak, the sound of a water drop hitting the rug grabbed your attention. You looked at the ground, and found that the drop had hit the spot where Brahms had been before you moved him. You glanced up at the ceiling and saw a crack, around it was a small wet stain on the ceiling.

“Come on Brahms, let’s go get started on the cleaning for today.” You picked Brahms up and held him against you, hoping to comfort his poor spirit, “You won’t have to do anything, of course. I’ll clean today.”

You had cleaned the house in every which way you could imagine and considering the size of the house you had surprised yourself with your skills. It was as if you had changed the atmosphere of the house itself. Brahms’s sadness seemed to disappear as the day continued. As you cleaned, you realized the manor wasn’t an unknown place to you anymore, it was beginning to feel like a home. Those eyes that had been watching you since day one, were now a welcome feeling. You knew now what was causing that feeling of anxiety and fear and decided it was just an unspoken part of the job, the catch. You reasoned that Brahms probably didn’t intend to scare, and in a way, it comforted you knowing that you weren’t really alone here. That someone would be there to look out for you. Yet you still found yourself restless. Brahms’s schedule had become so ingrained into your own that you felt little peace when you weren’t doing chores or caring for Brahms. The rain had been the only thing preventing you from exploring the nearby woods with the doll. You were itching to see the nearby woods. The manor had once felt large and too big to fill, now it seemed there was hardly any room for you to breathe in. You had gotten used to the feeling of Brahms, and now you were able to be certain when he was present or not. After you returned from your walk with Malcolm, it was like Brahms wouldn’t leave you alone. You had tucked Brahms away for a small nap after lunch, only to still feel his eyes and ears fixated on you. 

It was late in the afternoon now, the rain started back up again and was now turning into a frightening thunder storm. You had finished cleaning most of the house and figured it was time to address your own room. Now that you knew you would be spending more time here, you figured it was time to unpack all of your luggage. You knelt down beside your bed and reached underneath for the bag you had only brought with out of necessity. Inside were clothes you had only brought with to leave nothing of yourself behind with David. They were expensive and tasteful, but were part of a lifestyle you had rather forgotten about. You lifted the bag onto the bed and unzipped it, looking at the clothes you had crudely thrown into the case. You pulled them out, smoothing them out and folding them into neat piles. You pulled out one of your more worn dresses from the bag, it was your favorite due to it’s classy form fitting look. Just tight enough to really show off your curves. You had usually worn it to dinner parties with David’s important connections or to work when you needed a bit of a confidence booster. You placed the dress aside, it would be a good pick if you ever took Malcolm up on that offer to go on a trip to town. You looked back into the case and felt a frown creep onto your face. You didn’t even remember grabbing the lingerie, unlike your other clothes, these had the worst memories attached to them. You quickly zipped the suitcase back up and got up off the bed from it. Now was not the time to think of those memories. 

_‘I should go check on dinner and wake up Brahms.’_

You decided to check on dinner first, so your feet immediately guided you to the kitchen. Dinner for tonight was slow cooker chicken noodle soup. You had started before you began your chores in order to leave the whole day dedicated to cleaning. The whole house was fragrant with the spices and seasonings you had used to start the soup off. It was nearing the final stage of the process, adding in the noodles and shredding the chicken that had been cooking with the base. You turned the kitchen light on and began getting everything together to finish off the soup.

_‘This won’t take very long. Hopefully Brahms didn’t mind his nap.’_ You thought to yourself.

You rolled up your sleeves and carefully pulled the lid off of the slow cooker. Steam erupted out of the pot and disappeared above you. You took a deep whiff of the broth and gave yourself a mental pat on the back. This had to have been one of your best soups yet. Malcolm’s groceries provided you with plenty of fresh, locally sourced vegetables and meats, and although you weren’t a cook, you would humbly admit your cooking had improved since you first arrived. David hardly dined in, so most of your meals were prepared at a high end restaurant. It wasn’t until you had come here, did you realise how much you had missed home cooking. You snapped back from your thoughts and grabbed a fork to stab and pull the chicken breasts from the bottom of the pot. You took a cutting board out and began to pull and shred the chicken apart with two forks. Once you finished the chicken, you swiped the meat from off the board and back into the pot. Next you just had to throw in the noodles and give them some time to cook. 

_‘That took hardly any time at all.’_ You washed your hands and dried them off with a nearby towel, _‘I need to ask Malcolm to bring me some things to do.’_

You opened the kitchen cabinet holding the ceramic dishes and pulled out two bowls. You grabbed the silverware and walked into the dining room. Dinner was always so quiet between you and Brahms that you had wished he would speak to you. Anything at all really, you were so tired of the one sided conversations it would be nice to hear someone else’s voice other than your own. Why wouldn’t Brahms speak to you? Ever since you realized Brahms was here in spirit, it seemed odd that he never once spoke with you. Now that you were going to be spending more time here, you had hoped Brahms would be more active around you. You set the table and went back into the kitchen. You took the bowls and scooped soup into both . Malcolm had dropped off the perfect bread for dipping in soup, so you grabbed a bread knife and cut it into several pieces for you and Brahms. You transferred the food into the dining room and then went upstairs to wake Brahms from his nap.

You opened Brahms’s door carefully, being prepared to see Brahms staring at you, or moved somewhere in the room. Brahms was laying the bed as you had left him with his back turned against you. You didn’t blame him, finding out about his parents in the way he did had to have been difficult for him.

“Brahms? It’s time to get up, I have dinner ready for us downstairs.” You purred out, putting a gentle hand on his arm. You pulled back his covers and sat him up. You figured it would be wise to be extra mindful of his feelings, you wished people had been when you lost your father.

“Come on, I don’t want dinner to get cold.” You picked Brahms up and hugged him into your chest.

You walked downstairs and looked out the windows. A flash of lightning illuminated the nearby woods and the inside of the house. You continued to the dining room and placed Brahms in his spot at the dining table, with you sitting beside him. Brahms always sat next to you and you made sure that he always felt included when you were eating. It was hard to explain, but you felt a strong urge to keep Brahms happy. Whenever you thought about these feelings you were developing, your mind shot back to the tantrum after Malcolm’s kiss. It was destructive and reminded you of your past. Maybe the reason you were trying so hard to keep Brahms’s spirit happy was, you were worried of being hurt again. You knew deep down that you had started all over again and although David is no longer here, your unconscious had yet to break from his control. The relationship was one sided, and you were forced to give everything you had to just please him. There wasn’t much difference between you and the doll now. You felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes and you took a deep breath. You just wanted someone to try as hard as you did, and the reality was, it was pointless to try with this doll. Brahms couldn’t reciprocate the love you were showing him, and although he did sweet things every now and then, it wasn’t what you needed.

_‘Oh god, why am I thinking about this.’_ You leaned your chin into the palm of your hand and shook your head _‘I’ve been doing so well.’_

Your heart ached in your chest, reminding you of your loneliness. You knew it didn’t have to be this way, but it felt right taking things slow with Malcolm. You weren’t even sure if you really liked him. Intimacy was still intimidating for you, even if it was one of the things you craved the most. At night you cradled a pillow besides you, sometimes imaging the head of someone else sleeping in your chest. It was the soft, gentle moments you were the most afraid of because that’s when you were the most vulnerable. 

_‘I have to stop thinking like this… this is exactly what David wanted. I have to undo all the terrible things he put into my head.’_

You finished your bowl of soup and used the bread to soak up the rest of the broth left over. As you took a bite from your bread, the lights above you flickered weakly. You quickly glanced up at the lights and jumped from the sudden clap of thunder outside.

_‘The storm must be messing with the power,’_ You looked at Brahms’s carefully, _‘Or maybe he is.’_

You stood and pushed your chair in. Brahms hadn't moved and you didn’t feel any change in the atmosphere, so maybe it was the storm afterall. You grabbed the dishes from dinner and went to the kitchen to clean up. You placed the dishes in the sink, except for Brahms’s bowl, which you took the soup from and mixed in with the rest in the slow cooker. You then took several tupperware containers and filled them each to the brim with your soup. It always saved nicely, so you placed one container for yourself in the fridge, and the rest in the freezer for Brahms. The thunder erupted loudly over the manor and shook your eardrums for a few seconds, the lights flickered once more in the kitchen. 

_‘Better wrap this up quickly.’_ You finished cleanly promptly and went back into the dining room for Brahms.

He was still sitting down, waiting for your return, so you briskly picked him up under his armpits and held him gently against you. The rain was louder now, and was hitting the windows with such ferocity at some moments you were worried they would shatter. You wondered what Brahms thought about storms. You walked down the large hallway to the main stairs, turning off the lights to the house for bed.

“Are you ready for bed Brahms? I know I am.” You yawned and laughed softly. 

You put Brahms to bed earlier than usual, you didn’t really care if he had just had a nap, you were so tired from your day of chores that you just wanted to take a nice shower and cuddle up in bed. You sat Brahms down on his bed, his pajamas were in the dresser just beside you, so you opened it up and got out the warmest looking sleepwear you could find. Because you weren’t allowed to use the fireplaces, the house was dreadfully cold in the evenings. You made quick work of Brahms’s day clothes and changed him into his pajamas. You laid him down to sleep, tucking him into bed for the night. Unlike the Heelshire’s you never prayed to Brahms, you weren’t religious so instead you would kneel beside his bed and speak softly to him. 

“You’ve been such a good boy today Brahms, I know it’s been hard for you. I just want you to know that I understand what you are going through, and well, I’m here for you.” You smiled sympathetically and gave Brahms a soft kiss on his cold forehead.

“Goodnight Brahms, sleep well.” You gently closed Brahms’s door behind you and moved to your bedroom. 

At the end of the day, putting Brahms to bed lifted some weight off your shoulders. You had always felt that as soon as the doll was put to sleep, Brahms’s spirit was too. The symbolism of putting the doll to sleep must have been enough to calm his spirit. Many times throughout the day, Brahms moved or moved things around him. It seemed at times that he would move, just so you could find him. Like a game of hide and seek. However, these games never occurred at night, giving to the freedom to act as you had wished. Tonight you were going to do a self care routine. You spent so much time upkeeping the appearance of Brahms, that you hardly paid notice to your own. You looked into the mirror against the wall and ran the tips of your fingers alongside your face. You were so tired, and more so you looked like you hadn’t showered in days. Your hair was greasy and your body odor was getting stronger with each day. You looked at your figure and gave yourself a satisfied smile, it looked like you had gained some weight since you arrived. In total honesty, you weren’t surprised and in fact this was a pleasant change. Before you had a hard time eating at all, David was adamant that you maintained a certain appearance, one factor included your weight. You knew it was unhealthy, but you couldn’t protest, and so you remained small and most of the time you felt sickly because of it. Now, you could eat whatever you pleased and so your figure was starting to return. Your hands traced over your hips, and you gave them a soft squeeze, trailing then up your torso and to your breasts. They looked fuller under your flannel, and you wondered if your nice clothes would still fit well. You walked into the closet and unhooked your favorite dress from the hanger.

_‘I should try it on.’_ You fumbled with your dirty loungewear set and tossed it into the laundry basket. 

You slipped the dress on over your head, the dress was tighter, but still looked as good as when you wore it before. You turned several times in the full length mirror, checking yourself out at every angle. You smiled and chuckled to yourself, you felt like you were in a changing room at the store. You took the dress off and put it back into the closet. You walked out into the room, your underwear hardly protected you from the cold air in your room. You went over to your dressers for new pajamas when an idea popped into your head. You turned and looked at the suitcase on your bed.

_‘It couldn’t hurt to try one of them on again…’_

You unzipped the case slowly and looked inside to see what you brought along with you. Inside were pairs of erotic lingerie sets that varied in style and shape. All of the sets however were the same color. David was adamant that your underwear and lingerie sets were always red, he preferred the deep, almost purple colors, while you had preferred the soft blushes of pinks. You never truly understood his choice, but figured it was some kind of perversion. You pulled out of one the sets from the top and held it up in front of you. Wearing these always gave you a sense of confidence you couldn’t describe. Sex was important in your past relationship, and many times your opinions were never taken into account. Lingerie held both bad and good memories, but sometimes it was harder to overlook the bad. David was a terrible man, but you had to admit he had style. Each set made you look erotically intoxicating and highlighted your very best bits. The set on the bed was one of his favorites, it was scarlet red and was made out of a sheer mesh material. It had a garter belt that paired well with the matching thigh high tights. You reasoned that it may be beneficial to try and change your perception on lingerie at one point or another. You slipped out of your underwear and changed into the scarlet lingerie. You admired yourself in the mirror, your hands tracing the curve of your breasts and following down the sides of your torso. You felt pleased with your appearance and had little room in your mind to think about David. You stared longingly at the woman in the mirror, she was beautiful. It had been so long since you had felt this much pride in your appearance that a soft ache whispered from between your legs. It had been even longer since you had touched yourself. What was stopping you anyway? You were alone and with Brahms in bed there would be no way for you to get caught. It would be nice to feel that kind of relief once more, maybe that was exactly what you needed to feel. Your hand slowly drifted further and further down until it rested on the bottom of your stomach, your fingertips sneaking their way underneath the seam of your panties. The lights flickering above your head paused your erotic actions. The storm was still raging outside, the thunder sounded like it was right above your head and it shook the whole manor powerfully. You pulled your hand back up and looked at yourself in the mirror. 

_‘The shower, the shower would be a better place.’_ You pushed aside your thoughts and took your lingerie off.

You grabbed your shower towel from the back of the closet door and wrapped your towel around your naked body, setting off to the bathroom. The hallway was pitch black and it was only illuminated by the lighting that flashed every now and then outside. The hairs on your arms and neck lifted as the cold air traced them softly. You had the feeling you were being watched in your towel. You gripped it tighter around yourself and quickly went into the bathroom. You slung your towel over the backside of the chair in the corner. You fumbled with turning the shower on to a temperature you would like, obliviously missing the door opening up a crack behind you. You ran your hand under the water until it warmed up just enough for you to stand in. Steam began to flow from behind the curtains, and so you stepped in and let the hot warm run down your body. You let out a soft moan as the water calmed your sore muscles. You grabbed the body wash and squeezed some out onto your hand. You soon began to lather yourself with the heavenly scented soap, you fondled your breasts and rubbed the bud of your nipples between your fingers. You bit your lip to prevent the small noises from escaping from your lips. 

_ ‘This is so wrong, what if Brahms hears me?’  _ You felt guilty pleasuring yourself like this, another part of you felt regret for not doing this sooner.

You took a few moments to play with your hardened nipples, pulling and pinching them until you felt your clit ache to be touched. You kept your pace slow and calm, staying mindful of how you were feeling, and more importantly how loud you were being. You moved one hand from your breast and down to rub your neglected clit. You couldn’t help but let out a breathy moan, this was heavenly. You rubbed yourself with small circles, softly squeezing your clit after a few moments. You had to use your other hand to support yourself from slipping. The pounding of the rain on the roof matched the quick beating of your heart in your chest. The shower water was hot and steamy, making your skin flushed and your head spin. The feeling of the water running down your chest and to your privates almost felt as if someone was there in front of you, your bodies pressed against each other in search of release.

Your legs were shaking, the knot in your belly growing tighter and tighter. Your fingers slipped on the slick tile wall, your digits grasping for anything to grip onto. You lost yourself in the pleasure and didn’t stop yourself from gasping and moaning. Your fingers picked up their pace, desperately rubbing and massaging your clit, you were close. The knot in your stomach suddenly released, a burst of energy washed over your body. You cried out in a pleasure and leaned against the cold bathroom tiles, spent from your well deserved orgasm. Your chest lifted and fell with deep breaths, your privates aflame with the aftermath of the pleasure you had felt. You steadied yourself and pushed yourself off the wall into the hot water. You smiled to yourself, this was a moment to be proud of, for it proved to yourself just how little control David had over you now. You absentmindedly began washing your hair, running your fingers through your soapy locks. You were so caught up in your actions, that you had hardly noticed the strained breathing of the person who had so quietly watched you.

You had finished washing the soap from your hair, when the thunder erupted outside once more. A few moments later the lights of the bathroom snapped off, drenching you in complete darkness. You cursed underneath your breath and looked around desperately, your eyes soaking every bit of light they could gather. The water began to lose pressure, and it quickly grew icy on your skin. You shivered as you fumbled for the handle to the faucet. Your hand bumped into it and you quickly shut it off. You put your hand out in front of you and felt for the shower curtain, pushing it aside to step out. You stood there in the dark, naked and dripping.

_ ‘What the fuck am I supposed to do now?’  _ You asked yourself in frustration.

Lightning flashed outside, providing you with a brief moment to get a sense of where you were in the bathroom. To your left was the sink, and past it was the chair with your towel and door to the hallway. Just as quickly as the lightning appeared, it disappeared, leaving you in total darkness once more. You held out your hand, feeling for the sink counter. Your hand graced the cold sink, giving you a bit of an idea of where you were in the bathroom. You stepped forward slightly, swinging your arm to your best guess of where the chair is. You smacked the back of the chair, and smiled at your small victory. You ran your finger over the back, and found the towel hung over it. You picked it up and wrapped it around yourself in the dark. You continued with this method you were using, waiting for the lightning to illuminate the path before you.

You were now standing in the middle of the hallway, you were certain that your bedroom was in front of you to the left. You felt the hairs stand up on your neck again, this time it felt as if something was standing directly behind you. Your heart rate quickened and you stood still for a moment, listening for any signs. The rain and thunder was so loud above you, that you could hardly tell the difference from your heart beat and the storm's ambience. Your neck was locked into place, the muscles were straining in an attempt to turn and see what was behind you. Your legs were still shaky from your orgasm, and now your joints felt like they were made of jelly. 

_ ‘This is a nightmare! I’m trapped in a fucking nightmare!’  _ You screamed in your mind, only for the sounds of your terrified breathing to be heard in the hallway.

You couldn’t get your legs to walk forward, it felt as if the world was moving too fast, and you too slow. Your grip on your towel was tight, your fingers turning white from their grasp. You had wished so desperately for the lights to turn back on, to illuminate the person behind you. Tears began to silently fall down your cheeks, what did this person want? Did they think that this was your home? Lightning flashed from the window behind you, illuminating the hallway, it confirmed that your bedroom was in front of you, just within reach. 

_ ‘If I can just run into my bedroom, I can lock the door….’  _ You began to plan to yourself, 

The lightning flickered away, leaving the hallway in darkness. If you could just move forward a little and wait until the light was back, you would be safe. Could the person feel your fear? Could they hear your heart beating in your chest? You whimpered as you felt the presence draw closer to your spot in the hallway, your nerves just barely sensing their touch just above your skin. The tips of two fingers touched your wet and bare shoulder. They barely grazed your skin as they dragged slowly down your arm, they felt so light on your skin that they could be compared to the feeling of a water droplet running across your skin. You didn’t move, you feared they dared to be this bold with the reassurance of a weapon hidden in the darkness from you. The fingers stopped at your wrist, their touch hesitant on the bone before they ventured into your palm, opening your hand and putting their fingers intertwined with yours. A shaky exhale released behind you, and a sharp inhale near your ear caused you to flinch from the sound. They had sniffed your freshly washed hair.

“Pl-please this isn’t my house..” You whispered fearfully through your tears, “I.. I don’t have anything..”

The presence behind you either ignored your words entirely, or weren’t what they had wanted to hear. The grip on your hand tightened, your clutch was shaky and sweaty from your fear. You licked your dry lips and felt your breath hitch as their body pressed alongside the back of yours. They held themselves tightly against you, pressing their aroused hips to the curve of your ass. This sensation quickly sent your senses into overdriving, making you uncomfortably aware of his erection and your vulnerability in your towel. This easily could have been some opportunistic man from town, he could come into here taking what he wanted from you with ease. He had you caged in his broad chest, the sounds of his shaky breaths made you fear that this was an impulsive decision, that he had no idea what he was doing, only a goal in mind. 

_ ‘This guy must be at least twice my size..’  _ Your heart sank as a terrifying thought of the man easily overpowering you played in your mind  _ ‘I gotta stay calm to get out of this...’ _

It seemed like eternity you stood there with the stranger, their body rocked steadily against yours. You feared that this contact alone was enough for this guy to get off on. The warmth in his pants was more terrifying than the thought of a knife or gun in the other hand he had to touch you with yet. His face nuzzled into the spot behind your ear, you could hear the sounds of him smelling you through what sounded like a mask. 

_ ‘Doesn’t want me to be able to identify him, did he know the power was going to cut? Did he have something to do with it?’  _

“I have money, lots of it in my bedroom…” You took a wavering breath, “I get paid in cash… you can have it, I won’t tell anyone you were here, just please don’t hurt me...” You rambled fearfully, you were crying completely now.

It seemed almost too good to be true when the feeling of his body moved away from your back. You shivered as the heat from his presence left you feeling exposed in the cold hallway. You were still wet from the shower. The grip on your hand loosened and his long fingers slipped from between your shaky ones. His hand was brought to the small of your back, and he nudged you forward almost too eagerly. You swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded in the dark. You knew well that neither of you could see well in the hallway, but you couldn’t speak at all. You understood the message, and quickly threw your hand out in front of you. You soon found the wall of the hallway, changing your direction to the left slightly. Your fingers found the familiar texture of your wooden bedroom door.

_ ‘Don’t fuck this up, don’t fuck this up, don't fuck this up…’  _

You steadied your hand on the doorknob, taking a deep breath and looking forward determinedly. The man behind you was breathing quickly, apparent he was eager to get inside your room. In a split second you threw the door open, quickly sliding in and slamming it shut behind you. The man ran into the door, pushing against it, desperately trying to push it open. You pressed against his force on the door, the only thing preventing it from flying open was the strength from the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You felt the door press back into place, and you desperately clicked the lock. The man shook the knob aggressively, pounding onto it repeatedly as he tried to force his way inside. You backed away from the door, your hands shooting to cover your mouth from the sound of your sobs. You shook your head, trying to convince yourself this wasn’t happening.

_ ‘It’s David! He found me! He is going to fucking kill me!’  _ Your mind raced for a logical explanation, but you were so adrenaline kicked that you could only focus on the intense straining of the door in front of you.

You felt as if you had been shattered into a million pieces. You couldn’t think properly, and you began to feel a sense of dread washing over you. Not only has David found you, but you have cornered yourself in a room with no escape. You felt your knees give from under your weight and you sank to the floor. You covered your ears from the sounds of the furious man trying to get into your room and the storm raging outside, it was a sensory overload. No matter how fast or deeply you breathed in and out, you couldn’t get enough air into your lungs. The darkness that surrounded you was overwhelming, the sense of eyes burned into you at every angle. You were hyperventilating on the floor of your bedroom, you could only hear the sounds of your intense breathing. Your hands grasped at the floor, desperate for some form of security or help to ease your suffering. You tried to focus on your heartbeat, to feel the floor underneath your knees and fingers to give you something to focus on, to calm your breathing.

_ ‘He’s gonna fucking kill me, he followed me here to tear me apart and teach me a lesson!’ _

You felt so weak, your body quickly weakening and slipping from your control. You couldn’t stop yourself from fainting and you fell slack against the floor. 


	5. A Sense of Security

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire tries to figure out what happened to her on that stormy night.

The force behind the door stilled for a moment, waiting and listening. He could no longer hear the sound of your cries and panicked breathing. The house was silent, as if he had disappeared into the darkness of the night. He didn’t need to barge his way into your room, there was another path he had taken countless nights before. The inside of the wall was damp and cold from the rain outside, the dust hung heavy in the air sticking to his sweaty skin. He slid through the space in the wall with precise skill. His feet treaded soundlessly, his breathing calm and controller behind his porcelain mask. A small ray of moonlight shines from your bedroom window and through a hidden crack in the wall. He found himself stalking you there quite often, watching you cluelessly go about your day, as if someone wasn’t there soaking in every detail.

He brought his eye to the opening in the wall, you were lying face down and unmoving by the front of your bed. A twinge of guilt struck his heart, for he didn’t mean to hurt his pretty nanny, but soon it was overcome by the feeling of irritation. You had put on such a performance during your shower, he could have swore that it was just for him. The power cutting out was an unexpected, but not unwelcome development. He wanted to play, like mommy and daddy but you didn’t understand, he couldn’t make you understand without ruining the game. Still, there would always be another time. He moved on inside the wall, his hand gliding against the rough inside until his fingers found a change in texture, a hidden wooden panel in the back of your closet. He was sure that you were unconscious, but to be safe he emerged as silently as he normally did. He stood beside the end of your bed, watching you for a moment longer. Your chest rose and fell with deep breaths, your cheeks rosy from the tears you had shed. Eventually, he knelt down beside you and scooped you up from the cold floor and into his warm arms. He sat down on your bed, holding you there in his arms. In his mind he imagined a different scenario, one where you had fallen asleep in his arms, trusting and lovingly. His longing smile faded into a soft frown, perhaps he had acted upon his urges to quickly. While you were getting more and more comfortable in his home, he was finding it harder to live beside you without your knowledge. He brushed some of your hair out of your face before tucking you into bed for the night.

-

You had awoken to a burning, bright golden light. The curtains of your window were fully opened, allowing the sunlight to cascade into your room. You shifted to the other side of your bed, hoping to fall back asleep. It had felt as if you hadn’t slept at all, you had once again awoke exhausted. 

_ ‘Wait a second…’ _ Your eyes snapped open, your hand gripping your bed sheets in an attempt to reassure yourself you were really in bed,  _ ‘Was that all just a nightmare? Or did that really happen? How did I end up in my bed?’ _

You sat up slowly, remaining mindful of the headache that was gnawing on your brain. You were still in your towel from your shower. You rubbed the back of your head, looking around in a bit of a mindless state. The events from the night before were fuzzy, when you tried to think back to what happened you were met with feelings of confusion and fear. It wasn’t uncommon for your mind to make fearful events like that disappear from your mind, you were once told that it was a self defense mechanism your brain would use to protect itself. You closed your eyes and took a deep, focused breath. You remembered getting into the shower, the hot water and the sensations of touching yourself. Then darkness, the power turned off and you tried to go back to your room, but someone was in the hallway. You tried to play the situation further in your mind, but it felt as if sand was flowing through your fingertips. The rest was a blur, and left you with more questions than answers.

You touched your hand softly, the way the man had grasped your hand. You mimicked the way his fingers had drifted over the knuckles of your own, the desperation as he held onto your hand, he had taken your hand as if he would have never gotten another chance. In the moment, your fear had taken any sense of intimacy the man was trying to show and warped it into absolute terror. The way his body caged you into his, as if he yearned to never let you go. His excited breathing echoed near your ear, a constant reminder to you of his true intent, his reason for coming here. David had held onto you in a similar fashion before; a night of pleasure turned into horror after you had rejected one of his more adventurous advances. You can still vividly recall the feeling of his hand wrapped around your throat and the aftermath of the bruising he had left. It was obvious when you had first started dating David that he had sexual desires that were more controlling, more demanding than you had liked, it started with small things like biting and hair pulling and then evolved into rougher sex. It had felt as if you were fighting, rather than making love to your partner. He had an avid desire to hurt you, to make you feel terrible during sex. Many times you couldn’t remember the events that had unfolded, but David’s recordings always reminded you of the abuse you had endured. Once you had been riding David backwards when he had suddenly taken you into a choke hold. You blacked out before he could finish, but that didn’t stop him from what you saw on the video. You were a logical and reasonable person, but when it came to physical contact those traits were thrown out the window. Had the intruder refrained from grabbing you in such a fashion you probably wouldn’t have hyperventilated and fainted. You brought your hand to your neck and rubbed the sore muscle. The more you thought back to the situation, the more perplexed you felt. Who was the man? How did he get into the house? 

_ ‘Maybe I really did imagine the whole thing, figures I would think of shit like that…’ _

Perhaps it was all just a lucid dream, which would explain the missing pieces in your memory. A part of you wanted to just accept that it was all a bad dream, but something just wasn’t right about anything that happened. It was all far too real for a dream, and yet it didn’t make sense. If someone had broken into the house, they wouldn’t have given you an opportunity to lock yourself in your room. You swung the covers off of your legs and slipped out of bed. One of the things you couldn’t remember was putting yourself in bed, especially in just a towel. You could have sworn you fainted on the floor, but perhaps it was just a piece that had been forgotten. You slipped your towel off and went to your nearby dresser. Something simple would do for today, the only thing you knew you had to do today was make sure the house was safe. On the chance that something did happen you wanted to make sure that you and Brahms were okay. 

_ ‘Oh fuck! I completely forgot about Brahms.’  _ You scrambled to gather your clothes and put them on.

You hadn’t even given a second thought about Brahms, how terrified he must have been! Who knew what he was thinking? You felt a sense of panic erupt inside.

_ ‘Oh god what time is it? Poor Brahms, he must be so scared.’  _ You looked around for your phone, finding it on your nightstand. 

The time read “12:45”. You bit your lip and shoved the phone into your back pocket. 

_ ‘Okay, got to go check on Brahms, make sure he is okay, then I should call Malcolm see if he can come by-’  _ Your thoughts were interrupted as you went to open your bedroom door, it was locked. That at the very least proved you had at one point locked the door, which you never did any night before.

_ ‘This whole situation is fucked.’  _ You thought to yourself angrily. 

You unlocked the door and made your way to Brahms’s room. Every step filled you with dread, for you had broken Brahms’s carefully constructed schedule. Surely if you explained to him what had happened he would understand, but after the news he received yesterday you weren't so sure he would be forgiving. You opened the door slowly, you were expecting toys and books to be thrown around the room, the aftermath of a tantrum. Instead when you had opened the door, you found Brahms was nowhere to be found. You let the door swing open fully, your gaze carefully inspecting the room. It had looked untouched, and unbothered. You bit your lip and walked inside, looking behind the door and underneath his bed for the doll.

“Brahms? Are you in here?” You stood in the middle of the room, looking around while you listened for a response, “I’m sorry I got up so late, I had a terrible night.” 

The room was silent for a moment, but you didn’t feel alone. You felt that familiar feeling of being watched, of being listened to. You continued talking, hoping to get Brahms’s spirit to interact with you.

“I’m not sure what happened last night, Brahms. I’m sorry if I scared you, if you thought I wasn’t going to come take care of you.” You sat down on Brahms’s bed, your head hung down slightly.

“I just, I didn't know what was happening, and I-I…” You felt your voice cracking and stopped for a moment to steady yourself, “I couldn’t tell if my dream really happened or not.” 

You wiped the tears from the corners of your eyes and sighed in defeat. Brahms clearly didn’t want to talk to you. You must have made him mad, you broke the rules and messed up the schedule. Not only did his parents leave him, but he must have felt like you were going to too. You stood up and took a shaky breath. 

“I’m gonna go downstairs and make some food, I-I’ll come back and check on you…” You sniffed your nose quietly and left the room.

It was upsetting for Brahms to treat you this way. You had been nothing less than a perfect nanny for him, and the one time you mess up your suddenly not good enough? You turned to go down the hallway to the stairs when the sudden sound of the telephone ringing erupted your negative thoughts. The phone was ringing from your room. You paused and hesitated for a moment, then walked into your room. Your fingers grasped the phone carefully, and you brought it up to your ear.

“This is Claire speaking.” You answered curiously, trying to sound like you hadn’t been crying.

The sound from the call was accompanied by grainy static, as if the signal was weak. You waited a moment, listening.

_ ‘Was this the same person who had called the study before?’ _ You stood there silently, your mind scrambling to reason who could be on the phone.

“Hello…?” You asked hesitantly

“It wasn’t a dream, Claire…” A soft, child like voice whispered from the static

Your face paled and your blood quickly chilled in your body. Brahms had called you. He was finally talking to you.

“H-how…?” You responded shaikly, you couldn’t finish your sentence.

“The man… he grabbed you…” Brahms slowly answered, as if he was carefully selecting his words, “...I was so scared… I thought he was going to take pretty Claire away from me…” You thought you could hear the sound of his voice breaking, as if he was holding back tears.

You held onto the phone tightly, absorbing every word that Brahms was saying. It really did happen then, you weren’t imagining things. You grabbed the base of the phone and pulled the cord from behind your dresser, allowing you to drag it over to your bed. You needed to sit down and take this in. You looked down for a moment, listening to Brahms. You were patient and gave him plenty of time to speak before you did.

“I’m so sorry he scared you Brahms.” You cradled the phone besides your head, as if Brahms could feel your touch, “I had no idea he was in the house. Did he hurt you?” 

“He didn’t find me.” He responded, starting to cry on the phone, “Are you going to leave me, Claire?” 

“Oh no, no Brahms, no…” You reassured him gently in a motherly tone, you felt a twinge of guilt in your stomach.

“I’ll protect you from the bad man, Claire.” Brahms’s voice cracked while he was speaking, it sounded deeper and older. 

“Thank you Brahms, that makes me feel better.” You smiled, hoping to make it clear through the tone of your voice, “I’ll have Malcolm come over and make sure the house is safe, maybe he knows who was here.” You suggested.

Brahms was silent for a moment, his breathing ragged on the line.

“No.” He demanded coarsely 

“No, what…?” You asked timidly 

“I don’t want Malcolm to come. Just me and you, please?” Brahms’s tone changed into a more child-like whine

“Brahms.. I don’t know…” You hesitated, you knew it would make you feel a lot better if Malcolm could help you make sure everything was safe, but it was obvious that Brahms didn’t want any other unwelcome men in the home, “I guess I could check the house myself.” 

Brahms hung up the phone unexpectedly, you frowned and placed the phone back onto the base. You hadn’t heard of paranormal communication over the phone, but you doubted that you were the only one to experience a haunting like this one. You stood up and put the phone back onto it’s spot on the dresser. You may as well check the house for any signs of forced entry, Brahms would most likely take himself out of hiding during that time. It’s not like he moved when you were in his presence anyway. 

You put on your pair of boots and a simple jacket for when you would go outside later. As you stood in the hallway, you looked to where you had stood the night before, soaked from your shower in nothing more than a towel. There was really no point in searching the upstairs rooms, they were so high off the ground you doubted they would’ve made for a point of entry. Just to be safe, you grabbed the metal attic hook from the umbrella basket and held onto it defensively. Perhaps the intruder was still in the area. You checked the upstairs first, nudging the doors open with your weapon. Each room seemed more empty than the first, making you more and more sure that it was just you and Brahms. You walked down the steps slowly, peeking over the railing at every corner or possible blind spot in the downstairs. You went to the front door and shook the knob, locked. You spent a good couple of minutes searching each room, your anxiety wouldn’t settle for less if you hadn’t inspected every nook and cranny of this manor. During your search downstairs, you recalled what Mr. Heelshire had told you on the day you had met. The windows had been painted shut by amateur tradesmen. At the very least, that provided you with some insight into the way the intruder may have entered the manor. Just to be certain however, you checked the windows. The paint that had coated the windows frames had remained unbroken, and untampered with. You peeked outside each window, dreading seeing someone staring back at you from the other side with each pull of the curtains. You felt more and more confused as you searched the house, there seemed to be no logical way for someone to enter. It was as if no one was even here. The only good news that had arose from your investigation is that the power had returned. The storm must have cut it out for sometime, for how long you were uncertain and what exactly was damaged you couldn’t figure out. You were grateful however that it had returned in less than a day. 

The weather outside had dramatically improved, the only evidence of the storm was the still muddy ground. After finishing looking inside, you made your way outside. It was warm and sunny. There was a soft breeze in the air that danced through the trees, an aroma of tranquility blew over you. If it weren't for the unsettling reasons you had come outside, you would have enjoyed the walk you were on. You knelt down to look underneath the bushes by the windows, the flowerbeds held no visible tracks. It felt silly to be searching for what seemed like a ghost, whoever this man was, it was as if he never existed at all. The only evidence you had was Brahms’s account, and that wouldn’t be proof to anyone else other than yourself. You stood outside by the fountain, the tree above you swaying gently and the breeze brushing over your frame. You dropped your weapon to the ground and sat down beside it, you brought your knees to your chest and hugged them even closer.

There was something about the calmness of the nature around you that vastly contradicted what was going on inside your mind. Consciously, you were trying so hard to push down the traumas that were consistently resurfacing from your subconscious, trying to act like you were happy and functional. It was easier to pretend you were okay, than to face the fact that you were at your most broken state. Your encounter last night was proof enough that this “happiness” was all just a mask you had been wearing, a temporary block from the real pain you had been feeling this whole time. You hadn’t moved on from your pain, just pushed it aside and ignored it. Did you have what it takes to stay here? To move on? Would it be wise to stay and try to pick up the broken pieces? If you moved on, you would leave a trail of those shards, and then what would be left of you? You had always been told that the worst things happen to the best people, that “nothing that happens to you isn’t something you can’t handle” but that wasn’t true, not for you anyway. Things were supposed to be better, but it felt like you were handed one terrible situation to the next. In some ways being here with Brahms was exactly what you needed, and for a moment you cursed at yourself for being so ungrateful. The Heelshire’s gave up their lives with the hope that you would stay and care for Brahms. At least that was what you had hoped, you still hadn’t gotten around to reading the letter.

You sighed dejectedly, rubbing your hand over your mouth and looking at the house. You had already proclaimed your dedication to your job to both Malcolm and Brahms. You couldn’t leave now, even if the Heelshire’s wanted you to. It would be wise to finally read that letter and decide once and for all what your plan was going to be. You stood up from the damp ground and grabbed the weapon from beside you. The person who broke into the house left no trace of their presence, there were no tracks in the mud from any vehicle or foot traffic and no signs of forced entry. You checked once more before you went into the house, the lack of evidence was wildly unpleasant. Not only did this person break into the house but they also left nothing for you to prove that they were here. You scoffed at yourself as you opened the kitchen door, wiping the caked on mud off your boots on the outdoor mat. Malcolm would think you were crazy if you had called him and explained what had happened. You closed the door behind you and locked it to ease your mind. You slipped the still muddy boots off your feet and placed the heavy attic hook pole onto the kitchen table. It was time to finally read the letter from the Heelshire’s.

The letter was on your dresser as you had left it the day before. You grabbed the envelope and sat down on your bed, your eyes fixated on the handwriting in front of you. The only thing that you could think was that the Heelshire’s never even got to know your real name, the real you. You swallowed the nervous lump in your throat and peeled the red wax seal from the envelope. You turned the envelope inside out and pulled out the pieces of paper, as you pulled out the paper, a jeweled ring followed. You picked the ring up curiously, turning it over in your fingers. It was beautiful and looked dangerously outside of your budget. You assumed that this must have been a ring that belonged to Mrs. Heelshire. You put the ring aside and unfolded the letter for you.

_ “Ms. Claire, _

_ It is with our sincerest apologies that our last interaction is with this final letter. Although we had only met for a brief period of time, both Mr. Heelshire and I were fond of your ability to adapt to such a bizarre lifestyle. You accepted us and Brahms, and for that we kindly thank you. Brahms has always been such a unique boy with a delicate personality that finding the perfect nanny had seemed impossible. Over the years we had many try to tell us to move on and grow apart from Brahms, but we just couldn’t bring ourselves to let him go. The one thing we could never give Brahms back was the life that had gotten taken away from him and we hope that with our efforts, and yours, that we can in some way repair what we had damaged all those years ago.  _

_ Now that you have spent some time with Brahms, you understand our concern for excellent care and company for him. We ask that you continue to care for Brahms now that we will no longer be a part of his life. We believe that you and Brahms will get along excellently and hope that in our absence you were able to bond with him. When you walked into the manor Claire, it was as if Brahms knew you were to be his. He was so excited for your arrival, and was even more pleased when you had agreed to stay. We hope that you have both been kind to each other thus far. _

_ Your pay will continue as before, and checks will continue to be brought forth from Malcolm. Groceries from the list Mr. Heelshire and I designed will continue to be paid for, but you now have the ability to order what you please from Malcolm as the funds have already been set in place to handle any expenses regarding Brahms and your needs.  _

_ In this envelope you will find a ring for you to wear. It was given to me by my husband and has been a symbol of our long lasting love for years. I used to imagine that I would pass this ring down to a daughter or a daughter in-law at some time in my life, but I can say that if I had to have either, I would be happy if it were you. I wish to pass it onto you in hope that you will wear it and not think of how our lives ended, but how it was lived. Of course, if you wish not to keep it, I ask that you give it to Brahms. _

_ Mr. and Mrs. Heelshire.” _

After you finished reading the letter, you sat on your bed stunned and crying. The letter was short, but held words of emotional sincerity that made you even more sympathetic to the Heelshire’s. You took small breaths and shakily wiped the tears from your face.

_ ‘Thank god I didn’t read this in front of Malcolm.’ _

You hoped that you weren’t overreacting to the letter by crying as you were, but you weren’t sure what else was appropriate in your situation. Now there was no way you could leave Brahms, not after you had just read. You put the letters carefully back into the envelope and placed it on the nightstand beside yours. You picked the ring up from the bed and slipped it onto your ring finger. Mrs. Heelshire’s hands must have been smaller than yours, for the ring was a little tight on yours. It still fit onto your finger, but it reminded you of the one David had bought for you before. Both rings looked wildly expensive, but one had been worn in an act of true love, not control. You held your hand out in front of you and danced your fingers, seeing how the ring felt on your hand. It brought a small smile to your face to think that Mrs. Heelshire had thought so highly of you, from the way she acted it was as if you hardly mattered at all. You figured it was all a guard, to seem strong and unwavering compared to Mr. Heelshire who was kind and understanding. You brought the hand to your chest and hugged it there for a moment, how much you wished to give both of them one last goodbye.

A couple of hours had passed and you were now sitting comfortably in the parlor of the manor, you were absentmindedly journaling beside the large window. You wasted the beautifully sunny day inside, worried about leaving Brahms alone in the house. You had yet to find him, which left you with very little to do. It was a weekday after all, which meant he had missed his lessons for the day. Your phone call with him had ended abruptly but you didn’t believe you left on a sour note. You even refrained from having Malcolm over like Brahms wanted. You weren’t entirely sure where he had disappeared to, you spent a solid hour searching for him in hopes that together you could cure your boredom.

You swayed on feeling like Brahms was upset with you, and that he was hiding to avoid you or that he was simply shaken from the night before and needed some time to himself. You couldn’t understand why he could possibly be upset with you, but he was a strange boy after all so you reasoned either option was plausible. It was however becoming more obvious as the day continued that he had no plans of spending any of it with you. You tried not to take it personally, to be the grown up you were supposed to be, but it was gnawing on your nerves. You looked outside to the forest, a small thought entering your mind.

_ ‘I should call Malcolm.’ _

You leaned over and took the phone off the base and held it to your ear with your shoulder. You rang up Malcolm’s number and waited patiently.

“Hello?” A giddy sounding Malcolm answered the phone.

“Hey Malcolm, it’s Claire.”

“Ah, Ms. Claire, always nice to hear from you. How did you fare in the storm last night?” Malcolm asked as he continued on with whatever task you had interrupted before your call.

“It was...” You paused and played with the cord absentmindedly, “...terrifying, absolutely terrifying.”

“Not a fan of storms?”

“No, it’s not that. The power cut out and someone broke into the house.” 

“Someone broke in? Jesus Christ, why didn’t you call me sooner? Are you hurt?”

“No, no, I’m completely fine. I was able to lock myself in my room until the morning. I checked all over the house Malcolm, all outside, I can’t find any proof that someone was here.”

“What do you mean proof?” 

“Like, a broken window or muddy footprints. I thought I may have dreamed the whole thing.” You laughed to yourself

“Well, maybe we should install some security in the house, yeah? The Heelshire’s may not have wanted any but it’s not like they will be staying there anymore. You will be staying though right?”

“Definitely.” You looked down at the beautiful jeweled ring on your finger, a reminder of your dedication, “How much will the installation cost?”

“I’m sure your pay will more than cover the costs. I have a mate in town who installs security, I’ll have him get you a good price. Wanna make sure that bloke doesn’t try anything again. What did he want anyway?”

“I don’t think he stole anything, I think he was only interested in me.” You sighed, speaking about what happened was making you uncomfortable, “It could have been someone from my past, I don’t know, I didn’t get a good look at his face.”

“That man who hurt you before? You think he followed you from the United States?” Malcolm’s tone turned more serious, more keen on listening to your words

“It’s a possibility, yes. He is the reason I left, you know? I tried to cover my tracks but it’s possible he sniffed me out.”

“I haven’t seen anyone new in town, so if he is stalking around, he hasn’t been here. I’m the only grocer in the area so he would have to give me a visit one way or another.”

“Maybe I’m losing my mind then Malcolm. None of this makes any sense.” You rubbed your face dejectedly

“Your situation is a bit...” He paused looking for the right word, “...odd. Maybe it would be best if you stayed at my place for the night. If you don’t want to leave Brahms, I could keep you company at the manor.”

You remained silent, wondering how you could accomplish any of those options without breaking the rules.

“I think you need someone there with you. Just you and a creepy doll in the middle of the woods in a haunted house, it’s perfect for a scary movie yeah? If you feel unsafe, you shouldn’t be there alone.”

“What about the rules? I don’t want to upset Brahms.” 

“Brahms can’t protect you from someone breaking into the house. I think the rules could be bent for this situation, don’t you think? I promise not to get in the way, you’ll hardly notice I’m there.”

“Only until the security is installed, okay? You’ll join us for dinner tonight then?”

“I can bring some food if you don’t feel like cooking. When was the last time you had take-out?” From Malcolm’s side of the call, it sounded like he was getting into his car.

“It’s been a while. Bring something for Brahms, I don’t want him to be left out.” You laughed to yourself, “See you soon then?”

“See you soon Ms. Claire.” Malcolm hung up the call.

While Malcolm was busy getting dinner for the night, you hurried to your bedroom to pick out a nice outfit to wear. You weren’t sure if you could call this a date considering the reason Malcolm was staying over, but you couldn’t help feel giddy at the idea that he would be spending the night with you. Company made out of warm flesh rather than cold porcelain. 

You took a quick shower to freshen yourself up, being mindful to not get your hair wet. You left it as you normally did, not having the time to do much of anything with it. When it was time to get dressed you pulled out your favorite date night outfit, pairing it with the shoes and other accessories you had deemed fit. It had been a long time since you had dressed up like this, even longer in an attempt to impress male company. You even went as far as to wear your nicer sets of lace underwear. You may not say it out loud, but you wouldn’t be against having an intimate night with the delivery boy. After getting ready, you searched one last time for Brahms. 

“Brahms? Malcolm is coming over for dinner tonight, I asked him to bring you some food too.” You stuck your head in various rooms searching for him, “Come on Brahms, I don’t know why you're so mad at me…” You sighed in defeat, still hearing nothing from the boy.

It was about half an hour later when Malcolm knocked on the front door. You unlocked the door and swung it open to unveil yourself to Malcolm, who had also appeared to have dressed up for the occasion. You gave him a wide smile and looked him up and down. He was holding onto a paper bag filled with the takeout for dinner, a bashful smiled on his face.

“You look beautiful tonight, Ms. Claire.” He also looked you up and down, trying to keep his eyes off of your best bits.

“Thank you,” You blushed and stepped aside to let him in, “I felt like I should have, considering you came all the way out here just to spend the night with me.”

“Oh please, I like spending time with you remember?” Malcolm gave you a cheeky grin as he passed you to step inside.

“Right, right…” You took a small peek outside, the now dark atmosphere making you anxious.

“I didn’t see anyone on my way up here, Claire.” Malcolm noticed your behavior, lightly touching your elbow to snap you from your fixation on the outside.

You jumped in response, but quickly stilled your nerves, smiling to ease the worry that spread across his face.

“Sorry, I just wanted to double check.” You shut the door and locked it securely, “I’m starving, whatever you brought smells amazing.”

Malcolm nodded, understanding that you had wanted to change the subject.

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure what you wanted so I picked out the most American sounding item on the menu.” He smiled awkwardly and walked towards the dining room, “Hopefully you’ll like it.”

The pair of you walked together to the dining room, you sat in your normal spot at the table while Malcolm sat across from you. He placed the food on the table and began pulling the boxes out of the bag. After pulling out all the food he handed you a smaller, kid sized box of food. 

“So, is Brahms not joining us for dinner?” Malcolm asked curiously as he handed you your food.

You grabbed the food from Malcolm, placing it down in front of you and opening it to reveal your dinner.

“Not tonight, I don’t think...”

“I bet he just needs some time to himself, I mean come on, you’ve been together a couple of months with no time apart.” Malcolm finished handing out the food and set himself up to eat.

The food Malcolm had picked out was something you would actually enjoy, and ate it with much delight. Dinner started out a bit awkward, you had to admit that you hadn’t had much social interaction even before staying with Brahms. Although you were hesitant and unsure of yourself, Malcolm was eager to spend time with you. Over time you found yourself warming up to him, getting more comfortable and friendly. Together you talked about nearly anything you could think of, anything to get to know each other better. You weren’t sure what time it was, but you had both finished your food awhile ago. During the dinner, you had pulled out some wine to loosen your tongue. The bottle had been nearly finished, your head light and fuzzy with delight. Both you and Malcolm had both drunk more than you should have, but you were just pleased to be having some enjoyable company.

Eventually Malcolm checked his watch and stood up from the table.

“You best head to bed, Ms. Claire. You have to wake Brahms early, yes?” He swayed as he was standing still, his words slightly slurred

“Right, I should do that…” You stood up slowly, being mindful of your own balance.

Malcolm began helping you clean the table, gathering the trash and dirty dishes and taking them with you into the kitchen. Since Brahms never came to dinner, his food was saved and put into the freezer. It felt silly to be sad over a tantrum such as this, maybe it was the alcohol that was affecting your emotions. You leaned against the kitchen counter and hazily looked at Malcolm who was standing across from you against the kitchen table. He gave you a cheeky grin and chuckled at you.

“I had a really great night.” Malcolm pushed himself off of the table and stood closer to you

You brushed your hand over his forearm, looking up at him with a seductive gaze. Malcolm brought the tips of his fingers beneath your chin to tilt your face up towards his own, he brushed his thumb over your bottom lip softly. His eyes burned with desire into yours, your heart beating rapidly in your chest due to the anticipation of his actions. He leaned closer to you, his lips barely touching your own.

“Before I do anything stupid again…” He stopped his actions and looked into your eyes with a softness you hadn’t seen in quite a long time, “...May I kiss you…?”

You were flustered, and highly aroused at this point. Words couldn’t, wouldn’t formulate themselves, but you wanted to say yes so bad. You nodded excitedly, rubbing his arm with one hand while holding yourself steady on the counter with the other. Malcolm didn’t wait a moment more before planting a gentle, steady kiss on your lips. He pressed against you, his hand sneaking to the back of your head to bring you closer. You moved with him, spurring him on by bringing a hand to his chest and feeling his chest muscles move beneath his shirt. The kiss quickly turned more sloppy and passionate, both of you were lost in the touch of the other, it was obvious it had been some time since either of you had experienced intimacy like this. He ran his other hand up your hip and to the side of your torso, his hand steadied just beneath your breast. His hand faltered for a moment, as if he had hesitated on moving further. You moaned into the kiss, waiting for him to fondle your breast.

You pulled back from the kiss, taking deep breaths of air. You look at him with irritated eyes and rosy cheeks.

“Why did you stop? I thought you wanted to do this?” You asked with an angered tone

“Of course I want to,” Malcolm pulled back and rubbed his neck awkwardly, “I just don’t think it’s appropriate considering how much we’ve drank.”

“Sorry…” You stopped leaning on the counter and looked down at the ground, “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

Malcolm grabbed your hand softly and rubbed his thumb across your knuckles. He held a gentle smile on his face, a silent acceptance of your apology. You brought your eyes to his, those kind, forgiving eyes.

“I’m going to go check the house before bed, okay?” Malcolm said after a moment of awkward silence

“And I’ll get you set up for bed.” You brought your hands together and followed him out of the kitchen.

Malcolm spent only about fifteen minutes checking the whole house, most importantly making sure everything was locked and closed up for the night. You had pulled a pillow from your bed and had taken some spare blankets from a closet to make a makeshift bed for Malcolm in the study. You had fallen asleep here a couple of times, so you could say for a fact that it was a decent couch to sleep on. Malcolm soon joined you in the study, his hands in his pockets.

“Nothing has gone unchecked, and I didn’t see Brahms either.” He walked over to you and gave you a puzzled look

“I haven’t seen him since I put him to bed yesterday.” You shrugged dejectedly and looked down at the blanket you were unfolding

“Oh my…” Malcolm sat down on the couch and looked up at you, “Maybe that intruder scared him something fierce.”

You shrugged again, this time saying nothing. 

“Well, I’m sure he’ll turn up.” Malcolm said with a positive tone as he began to take off his shoes.

“Yeah…” You crossed your arms and moved away from the couch, “If you get cold, there is a closet on the left with more blankets.”

“Thank you.” Malcolm smiled and nodded, “Sleep well.”

“You too.” You gave a soft smile back and left him to settle in for the night.

The night was uneventful, and morning had come too quickly. You woke up groggy and with a huge headache. Your wonderful buzz from the night before has turned into something fierce and untamable. Your head was pounding, and the morning light was harsh and unforgiving. You got dressed for the day, opting to wear something comfortable. As you ventured down the stairs the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, bringing a small smile to your face. Malcolm was in the kitchen with his back turned to you, he was finishing pouring two cups of coffee.

“Thank you for making coffee.” You spoke from the quiet, causing him to jump from your unexpected appearance 

“You are lucky I already finished pouring the hot coffee.” He laughed and turned to greet you, “Sleep better?”

“I definitely felt safer with someone else here.” You walked over and gratefully took the mug of hot coffee from his hands.

You looked into the cup and noticed that he had made it just as you usually enjoyed drinking it.

“I’m gonna head into town and do some work and then I’ll head back with my buddy and get the security set up. You’ll be alright on your own for a couple of hours?” Malcolm took a drink from his coffee mug and raised a playful eyebrow towards you.

You sat down at the kitchen table and ran your finger around the rim of the mug. You looked up at him and nodded, taking a sip of the coffee. 

“I’ve survived this long, I’m sure I can handle a few more hours.” You responded playfully

It was nice having Malcolm’s support, his eagerness to go out of the way and look out for you. You wondered if that was why he was single, women found him clingy. You gazed at him as you placed your coffee mug down, trying to understand him a little better.

“Call me if you need anything.” He put his empty mug into the sink and zipped up his jacket.

“Will do.” You smiled through the pain of your headache and stood to escort him out.

Malcolm left out the front door. You locked it behind him, watching him from the window in the front parlor. While he was here you felt a sense of calm, but now that he was gone you only felt a sense of intense unease. You sat down in a nearby armchair and watched as he got into his car and drove away. You sat there until you finished your coffee, the rumble of your belly urging you to eat. You hadn’t checked on Brahms yet, worried that he was still mad and hiding. You figure however that he would get over whatever he was mad about eventually, and would have to return to his schedule sooner than later. It would be a relief to see him again, to finally return to the normal you had grown so accustomed to. You left your coffee mug on the nearby table, a cleaning task for later.

You slowly made your way upstairs, the feeling of dread hung onto your ankles like heavy weights dragging you down beneath the waves. You wanted so desperately for Brahms to forgive you, to move on from whatever he was so bothered by. It confused you to no end, but reasoned that he was an odd child, in an even more odd situation. You stood outside of his bedroom door, shut and silent. You raised your hand to knock but hesitated, a sinister thought racing across your mind.

_ ‘Does he not want me here anymore? Does he want someone else to take care of him instead?’ _

You bit your lip and took a shaky breath, the fear of being out in the world again froze you to your core. Staying here with Brahms was the difference between life and death for you. David was out there, and even if there was a chance that he was the person who had broken into the house, you would take your chances here than anywhere else. You swallowed the lump in your throat and prepared yourself to enter the room. You knocked as you always did to announce your presence. As a spirit Brahms may not need privacy, but you felt it was important to act as if he did.

“Good morning Brahms, I hope you were able to get yourself ready for bed on your own last night.” You swung open the door and smiled widely.

Brahms was sitting up in his bed, he was in his pajamas and was still partially tucked into bed. It was as if he had sat up and waited for you to awaken him. A wave of relief washed over you, and you faltered for a moment, you were caught off guard by the doll. You had never been so happy to see that unemotional porcelain doll. You laughed happily and went to his bedside, picking him up from his spot in the bed and embracing him into a warm hug.

“I missed you so much...” You cooed into the doll’s ear, “...but please don’t ever do that again.” A more stern tone escaped your lips.

You let go of Brahms and placed him down on the bed, looking him over. He was dirty, more specifically he was dusty. You gave him a curious look, you couldn’t think of anywhere that was that dusty in the house other than the attic. It would have been impossible for Brahms to get up there without the help of someone like you. You kneeled down to his level and used your sleeve to wipe the layer of dust off of his face and hair.

“Wherever did you wander off to Brahms? We definitely need to give you a bath.”

The day continued on as if nothing had happened. You started by cleaning Brahms up. The pajamas he was in were the same clothes you had dressed him in the night the house was broken into. They were dirty and covered in dust just like the rest of him. You started by tossing his dirtied pajamas into the nearby laundry bin, and then you took him into your bathroom and got a rag damp to wipe away the dust that had settled onto his skin and hair. After you had finished his “bath” you took him back into his room and got him dressed into new, clean clothes. After that you took him downstairs to prepare breakfast. The feeling of holding him on your hips was something you didn’t realize you would have missed so much. You made a simple breakfast for the day, your headache hindering any sense of motivation you would have had. The whole time however, you talked eagerly with Brahms, and had the distinct sensation that he was listening. At some point you could have sworn you were just talking to hear yourself talk. Malcolm came back a little later than you had anticipated, but it was at a good time as you had just finished reading together for the day. 

You watched as Malcolm and his friend started gathering tools and such from the back of his truck. You looked back at Brahms who was sitting across from you, you knelt down in front of him and looked at him with comforting eyes.

“Malcolm is bringing his friend over for a little to help set up some security for the house. Nothing major, I don’t think, but it’ll help protect the both of us from now on.” You took his hand and held onto it softly, “Now, I know the rules say no guests, but it’s only for a little. I’ll be with you the whole time, I promise.”

After your small pep talk with Brahms, you picked him up and rubbed circles into his back. You opened the front door as Malcolm and his friend were walking up the front steps. Malcolm smiled and waved at you, his friend doing the same. 

“This is Jack, and Jack this is Claire and Brahms.” Malcolm introduced you both to each other

“Nice to meet you, Jack.” You smiled and stepped aside to allow them both in, “Please, come inside.”

The pair of men brought in the standard tools and supplies needed for a simple security system. Jack was a lot like Malcolm, kind and understanding. You guessed that Malcolm had warned him about the doll, and probably told him a bit about yourself. Although he acted like he couldn’t care less about Brahms, you often caught him staring at the doll in your arms. You tried to remain as casual as possible, hoping to keep both Jack and Brahms calm during this time. It didn’t take too much time to install the hardware, mostly it consisted of alarms on both the front and back door, alarms on the first floor windows. You tried to reason that they were unnecessary, as the windows were painted shut, but Jack strongly urged that you had them put into place. 

“Now, that’s good and all, but all that these are going to do is let you know if someone gets into the house. “ Jack shook the small alarm in his hand before installing it on the final window, “What you really need is a security hub hooked to these and some cameras. When you are in bed for the night or out of the house, you can put the house into lockdown and if anything comes in it’ll alert you with some loud noises and contact the local law enforcement to help. Being out here in the middle of nowhere it’s important you alert help as soon as you can. We can set it up through your phone, and through a hub we can have installed somewhere near the front door.”

You listened intently, hoping that Jack was worried about your safety rather than trying to sell you some lame security system.

“I have the same thing in my place, Claire. Nothing to it really.” Malcolm added

“You think it’ll bother Brahms at all?” You placed a hand on his back, his head draped over your shoulder

Jack glanced at Malcolm with concern, and then back to you with worried eyes, “No.” He replied shortly

“Alright, let’s do it then.” You nodded to confirm your choice, looking at Jack expectantly

“Sure thing, let me go get the system and we can find a place to install it.” Jack left quickly, as if he couldn’t wait to be out of the room.

You watched Jack leave and head to the front of the house to his tools, you looked back at Malcolm who shrugged.

“He seems uncomfortable.” You spoke quietly

“He hates dolls, unfortunately, found out on the way up here.” Malcolm whispered back, his eyes on the doorway should Jack return.

“Luckily for him Brahms is a good boy,” You laughed softly and patted his back

“I guess all is well then? You seem happy, at least.” 

“Yeah, everything is just fine.” You smiled widely and nodded

Jack returned with a system hub in his hands.

“I’m ready when you are, Claire.” He glanced at you, then Brahms and promptly turned away.

You looked at Malcolm and laughed quietly, before following him out of the room.

“Now, you want this near the front door. When you turn it on, it only gives you like twenty seconds to leave before it’ll start detecting movement and all that.” Jack explained to you, “I was thinking this wall over here, it’s in a good spot so you can quickly get to it from the front door and the stairs.”

“Does it matter what wall it gets put on?” You asked curiously, looking at the wall he wandered over to.

“Not really no, just needs to be an easily accessible spot.” He knocked on the wall to further drive his point, but he paused and turned to inspect the wall.

You and Malcolm both looked at each other, unsure of what he was doing.

“Alright, mate?” Malcolm asked, snapping Jack out of his thoughts

“Yeah, yeah, I’m alright.” He put his hands on his hips, “I thought this was a load bearing wall, not a hollowed one.”

You tilted your head and looked at Jack, who shrugged and shook his head.

“Anyway, it’s not important really. This thing can go on any wall.” Jack began setting up the system 

Once he finished making sure the panel was secure on the wall, he grabbed a couple of motion sensors and began looking around the house for good spots to set them up at. You followed along behind him, watching him carefully and making sure he was doing as he was supposed to. Jack must have found your gaze unnerving, for he seemed like he was trying to finish up as quickly as possible. After a few test runs and a quick rundown of how the system works, Jack finished setting everything up. He went over the price with you, and you happily paid everything in full. You hardly used your pay for anything, so you had a bit of savings collecting. Jack counted through the bills, and then handed you some paperwork to go through and sign. Once that was finished he gave a short goodbye and gathered his things from the manor and went to the car.

“Sheesh, he really hates dolls, huh?” You nudged Malcolm playfully

“I’m dying to know why, he’s got a lot of sisters so I’ll bet you it’s got to do with that.” He chuckled and walked to the front door, “While you were busy setting everything up with Jack I brought the delivery for the week and your pay. It’s all on the kitchen table.”

“What would I do without you?” You winked and stood at the top of the stairs as Malcolm got into his car and left.

You locked the door and headed into the kitchen to put away the groceries for the week.

“I’m so proud of you Brahms! You did so well. Jack wasn’t very polite but that’s okay.” You spoke sweetly to Brahms as you set him down in a chair to do your work, “The security system is going to worth it, I promise. No one else is going to bother us like that ever again.”


End file.
